THE 
UNCENSORED  LETTERS 

OF  A 

CANTEEN  GIRL 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1920 


3i  570 
^1 


Copyright,  1920 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


TO 

PAT 

GATTS 

BRADY 

SNOW 

NEDDY 

BILL 

NICK 

HARRY 

JERRY 

and 

THE  REST 

THIS  BOOK 

is 
DEDICATED 


436oo9 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  I 

BOURMONT 

Company  A i 

CHAPTER  II 

GONCOURT 

The  Doughboys 59 

CHAPTER  III 

Rattentout 
The  Front. .;.... 87 

CHAPTER  IV 

GONDRECOURT 

The  Artillery 112 

CHAPTER  V 

Abainville 
The  Engineers 132 

CHAPTER  VI 

Mauvages 
The  Ordnance 167 

CHAPTER  Vn 

Verdun 
The  French 214 

CHAPTER  VIII 

CONFLANS 

Pioneers,  M.  P.'s  and  Others 237 


FOREWORD 

ToM.  D.  M.  andM.  H.  M: 

My  dears. 

These  letters  were  all  written  for  you;  scratched  down  on  odds 
and  ends  of  writing  paper,  in  a  rare  spare  moment  at  the  canteen; 
at  night,  at  my  billet,  by  candle-light;  in  the  mornings,  perched 
in  front  of  Madame's  fire-place  with  my  toes  tucked  up  on  an  orna- 
mental chaufrette  foot-warmer.  Why  were  they  never  sent?  Simply 
because  all  letters  mailed  from  France  in  those  days,  must  of  course 
pass  under  the  eyes  of  the  Censor.  And  as  the  Censor  was  likely  to 
be  a  young  man  who  sat  opposite  you  at  the  mess-table,  it  meant 
that  one  mustn't  say  the  things  one  could,  and  one  couldn't  say  the 
things  one  would.  So,  after  my  first  fortnight  over  there  I  decided 
to  write  my  letters  to  you  just  as  I  would  at  home,  putting  down 
everything  I  saw  and  thought  and  did,  quite  brazenly  and  shame- 
lessly, and  then  keep  them, — under  lock  and  key  if  need  be, — until 
I  could  give  them  to  you  in  person. 

Written  with  the  thought  of  you  in  my  mind,  these  letters  are 
first  of  all  for  you,  and  after  that  for  whoever  they  may  concern, 
being  a  true  record  of  one  girl's  experience  with  the  A.  E.  F.  in 
France  during  the  Great  War. 


CHAPTER  I 
BOURMONT 

Company  A 

BouRMONT,  France,  Nov.  24,  1917. 

My  village  has  red  roofs.  When  I  first  came  to  France  and  saw 
that  the  villages  were  two  kinds;  those  with  red  roofs  and  those  with 
grey,  I  prayed  le  bon  Dieu  that  mine  should  be  a  red-roofed  one. 
Heaven  was  kind.  Every  little  house  in  town  is  covered  with  rose- 
colored  tiles.  We  came  here  yesterday  from  Paris.  Our  orders, 
which  were  delivered  to  us  in  great  secrecy,  read:  Report  to  Mr. 
T ,  Divisional  Secretary,  Bourmont,  Haute  Mame;  then  fol- 
lowed a  schedule  of  trains.  That  was  all  we  knew  except  that  some 
one  told  us  that  at  Bourmont  it  had  rained  steadily  all  fall. 

"It  cleared  off  for  several  hours  once,"  concluded  our  informant. 
"But  that  was  in  the  middle  of  the  night  when  nobody  was  awake 
to  see." 

Bourmont  is  a  city  set  upon  a  hill,  a  hill  that  rises  so  sharply, 
so  suddenly,  that  no  motor  vehicle  is  allowed  to  take  the  straight 
road  up  its  side,  but  must  follow  the  roundabout  route  at  the  back. 
Already  we  have  heard  tales  about  our  hill;  one  of  them  being  of  a 
lad  belonging  to  a  company  of  engineers  stationed  here,  who  in  a 
spendthrift  mood,  being  disinclined  to  climb  the  hill  one  night  after 
having  dined  at  the  caf^  at  its  foot,  bribed  an  old  Frenchman  with 
a  fifty  franc  note  to  wheel  him  to  the  summit  in  a  wheel-barrow. 
The  Frenchman,  for  whose  powers  one  must  have  great  respect, 
achieved  the  feat  eventually,  the  spectators  agreeing  the  ride  a  bar- 
gain at  the  price. 

Two-thirds  of  the  way  up  the  hill  on  the  steep  street  called  gran- 
diosely Le  Faubourg  de  France  we  have  our  billet,  at  the  home  of 


ar :;.''.  .    bourmont 

M<)i^$i^CQ:;and  Madian^e  Chaput.  These  are  an  adorable  old  couple; 
Mddame  ^stately  yet  lovably  gentle  soul,  Monsieur  le  Command- 
ant, a  veteran  of  the  Franco-Prussian  War  and  member  of  the 
Ugion  d'Honneur.  His  wonderful  old  uniforms  with  their  scarlet 
trousers  and  gold  epaulets  rub  elbows  with  my  whipcord  in  the 
wardrobe. 

Outside,  the  Maison  Chaput  resembles  all  the  other  houses 
which,  built  one  adjoining  another,  present  a  solid  grey  plaster 
front  on  each  side  of  the  street.  Like  all  the  rest  it  has  two  doors, 
one  opening  into  the  house  and  one  into  the  stable,  and  Hke  every 
other  house  on  the  street  the  doors  bear  Httle  boards  with  the 
billeting  capacity  of  house  and  stable  stenciled  on  them,  so  many 
HommeSf  so  many  Off.  (for  Officiers).  It  is  told  how  one  lad  after 
walking  the  length  of  the  street  exclaimed; 

*'Gee!  Looks  as  if  this  were  Dippyville.  There^s  one  or  two  off 
in  every  house!" 

Another  boy  gazing  ruefully  at  the  sign  on  his  billet  door,  groaned; 

''Twelve  homes!  Why,  there  ain't  one  there!" 

One  stable  door  nearby  wears  the  legend  in  large  scrawling  let- 
ters; "Sherman  was  right."  At  first  the  owner  was  furious  at  this 
defacement  of  his  property,  but  when  someone  explained  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  words  to  him,  he  became  mollified  and  even  took 
a  pride  in  them. 

"Where  are  you  stopping?"  asks  one  boy  of  another. 

"Me?  Oh,  at  the  Hotel  de  Bam,  four  manure-heaps  straight 
ahead  and  two  to  the  right." 

The  distinguishing  feature  of  the  Maison  Chaput  is  the  corner- 
stone. This  shows  as  a  white  stone  tablet  at  one  side  of  the  door. 
On  it  is  carved  "Laid  by  the  hand  of  Emil  Chaput,  aged  one  year. 
Anno.  1842."  It  is  the  same  Emil  Chaput  who  with  his  tiny  baby 
hand  "laid"  the  corner-stone  who  is  now  our  genial  host. 

"It  is  droll,"  said  Madame;  "When  strangers  come  to  town  they 
must  always  stop  and  read  the  comer-stone.  They  think  the 
tablet  is  placed  there  to  mark  the  birthplace  of  some  famous  man." 

The  Gendarme  and  I, — Madame  has  christened  G my  com- 


COMPANY  A  3 

panion  the  Gendarme  on  account  of  her  vigorous  brisk  bearing, — 
live  in  the  Salle  des  AssieUes,  at  least  that  is  what  I  have  named  it, 
for  the  walls  of  the  room  which  evidently  in  more  pretentious  days 
served  as  a  salle  d  manger,  are  literally  covered  with  the  most 
beautiful  old  plates.  Not  being  a  connoisseur  I  don't  know  what 
their  history  is  nor  what  might  be  their  value;  I  only  know  that 
they  are  altogether  lovely.  The  designs  are  delicious;  flowers,  in- 
sects, birds,  Httle  houses,  Chinamen  fishing  in  tiny  boats,  inter- 
spersed with  spirited  representations  of  the  Galhc  cock  in  rose  and 
scarlet.  I  exclaimed  over  them  to  Madame,  whereat  Monsieur, 
candle  in  hand,  bustled  across  the  room  and  called  on  me  to  regard 
one  in  particular. 

"fa  coute"  he  averred  proudly,  ^^ quarante francst" 

Since  that  moment  I  have  been  vaguely  uneasy.  What  if,  in  a 
moment  of  exasperation,  I  should  throw  an  ink-bottle  at  the  Gen- 
darme's head,  and — shatter  a  plate  worth  forty  francs! 

Our  room  is  the  third  one  back.  The  front  room  is  kitchen,  din- 
ing and  living  room.  The  in-between  room  is  quite  bare  of  furni- 
ture, lined  all  about  with  panelled  cupboards,  and  quite  without 
light  or  air  except  that  which  filters  in  through  the  opened  doors. 
In  one  of  these  cupboards  Monsieur  le  Commandant  spends  his 
nights.  When  the  hour  for  retiring  comes,  he  opens  a  Kttle  panelled 
door  and  climbs  into  the  hole  in  the  wall  thus  revealed,  leaving  the 
door  a  crack  open  after  him.  When  we  pass  through  on  our  way 
to  breakfast  we  hurry  by  the  cupboard  with  averted  faces.  The 
family  Chaput  are  not  early  risers. 

Already  Madame  has  taken  us  into  her  warm  heart.  She  will 
be  our  mother  while  we  are  in  France,  she  tells  us.  Everything 
about  us  is  of  absorbing  interest.  When  the  Gendarme  exhibited 
her  wardrobe  trunk,  she  was  fairly  overcome. 

^'Ah,  vive  rAmerique,^'  she  cried,  clapping  her  old  hands,  and, 
^^Vive  VAmeriqueV^  again. 

Bourmont,  it  seems,  is  army  Divisional  Headquarters.  It  is  also 
headquarters  for  this  division  of  the  Y.  There  is  a  hut  here,  a  ware- 
house, and  headquarters  offices,  emplo)dng  a  personnel  of  sixteen 


4  BOURMONT 

or  seventeen.    By  tomorrow  the  Gendarme  and  I  will  know  what 
our  work  is  to  be. 

BouRMONT,  November  28. 

I  have  a  canteen;  the  Gendarme,  who  has  had  some  business 
training,  is  to  work  in  the  office.  My  canteen  is  in  Saint  Thiebault, 
the  village  next  door.  In  the  morning  I  go  down  the  hill,  past  the 
grey  houses  built  Uke  steps  on  either  side — some  with  odd  pear 
trees,  their  branches  trained  gridiron-wise  flat  against  the  fronts, 
— over  the  river  Meuse,  here  a  sleepy  little  stream,  to  Saint  Thie- 
bault. On  the  way  I  pass  lads  in  olive  drab  with  whom  I  exchange 
a  smile  and  a  hello,  villagers  bareheaded,  in  sabots,  and  poilus 
in  what  was  once  horizon  blue.  In  Paris  the  uniforms  were  all  so 
beautiful  and  bright,  but  here  at  Bourmont  one  sees  the  real  hue, 
faded,  discolored,  muddy,  worn.  The  soldiers,  middle-aged  men 
for  the  most  part,  slouch  about,  occupied  with  homely,  simple 
tasks,  chopping  wood  and  drawing  water.  One  feels  there  is  some- 
thing painfully  improper  in  the  fact  that  they  should  be  in  uniform; 
they  should,  each  and  every  one,  be  propped  comfortably  in  front 
of  their  own  hearthsides  reading  VEcho  de  Paris,  in  felt  slippers  while 
their  wooden  shoes  rest  on  the  sill  outside.  And  yet  these  very 
ones,  I  think  as  I  look  at  them,  may  be  the  defenders  of  Verdun, 
the  victors  of  the  Marne,  the  veterans  of  a  hundred  battles! 

The  Bourmontese,  who  are  proud  and  haughty  folk,  and  call 
themselves  a  city  though  they  number  only  a  few  hundred  souls, 
look  with  disdain  on  the  smaller  village  of  Saint  Thiebault,  Saint 
Thiehatdt  des  Crapauds  they  call  it,  Saint  Thiebault  of  the  Toads. 
Approaching  Saint  Thiebault  one  sees  two  unmistakable  signs  of 
American  occupancy;  first,  a  large  heap  of  empty  tin  cans  and  then 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  fluttering  from  a  flag  pole  in  the  centre  of  the 
village.  For  Saint  Thiebault  is  Regimental  Headquarters  and  it  is 
the  boast  of  the  old  Colonel  that  wherever  the  regiment  has  gone 
that  flag  has  gone  too.  Down  the  main  street  of  the  town  I  go, 
past  the  drinking  fountain  placarded;  "Do  not  drink,  good  only  for 
animals,"  but  at  which,  nevertheless,  the  doughboys  frequently 


COMPANY  A  5 

refresh  themselves,  cheerfully  risking  death,  not  to  mention  a  court- 
martial,  in  order  to  get  a  drink  of  unmedicated  water;  and  out 
along  the  Rue  Dieu  until  I  turn  off  the  highway  just  beyond  the 
village  wash-house.  The  wash-house,  known  to  the  French  as  la 
Fontaine,  is  a  beautiful  Httle  building  like  a  tiny  stone  chapel, 
with  tall  arched  windows  filled  with  iron  grills.  Through  the 
centre  runs  a  long  oblong  pool;  at  its  brim  the  women  kneel  to  do 
their  scrubbing,  handsome  peasant  wenches  many  of  them,  with 
fresh,  high  coloring.  Often  one  sees  a  soldier  leaning  against  the 
grill,  engaged  in  some  attempt  at  gallantry  through  the  bars. 
Sometimes  one  even  glimpses  a  form  in  olive  drab  kneehng  by  the 
side  of  one  of  the  peasant  girls,  he  scrubbing  his  socles,  and  she  her 
stayfe,  while  she  gives  him  a  lesson  in  French  and  in  laundering  d 
la  Franqaise.  When  the  Americans  first  came  to  Saint  Thiebault 
they  had  only  a  small-sized  guard-house.  Then  came  one  historic 
pay-day  when  after  months  of  penury  the  troops  were  paid.  That 
night  the  accommodations  at  "the  brig"  proved  inadequate  and 
the  wash-house  had  to  be  requisitioned  for  the  over-flow.  This 
was  well  enough  until  the  lodgers  fell  to  fighting  among  themselves 
and  so  fell  headlong  into  the  pool.  Then  such  a  hullabaloo  broke 
loose  that  the  whole  camp  turned  out  to  see  who  had  been  mur- 
dered. 
Back  of  the  wash-house  lies  a  group  of  long  French  barracks, 

and  here  lives  Company  A  of  the Regiment,  infantry  and 

"regulars."  Beyond  the  mess-hall  is  the  hut,  a  French  abri  tent 
with  double  walls.  Ducking  under  the  fly,  one  finds  oneself  in  a 
long  rectangular  canvas  room,  lighted  by  a  dozen  Uttle  isinglass 
windows.  The  room  is  filled  with  folding  wooden  chairs  and  long 
ink-stained  tables  over  which  are  scattered  writing  materials, 
games  and  well-worn  magazines.  Opposite  the  door,  at  the  far 
end,  is  the  canteen  counter,  a  shelf  of  books  at  one  side,  a  victrola 
and  a  bulletin  board,  to  which  cartoons  and  clippings  are  tacked, 
on  the  other.  Back  of  the  counter  on  the  wall,  held  in  place  by 
safety  pins,  are  the  hut's  only  decorations,  four  of  the  gorgeous 
French  war  posters  brought  with  me  from  Paris.    There  are  two 


6  BOURMONT 

stoves  resembling  unbrella-stands  for  heating  in  the  main  part 
the  hut  and  behind  the  counter  another,  about  the  size  and  shai 
of  a  man's  derby  hat,  on  which  I  must  make  my  hot  chocolate.  For 
lights  at  night  I  am  told  that  occasionally  one  can  procure  a  few 
quarts  of  kerosene  and  then  the  lamps  that  stand  underneath  the 
counter  are  brought  out  and  for  a  few  days  we  shine;  but  usually 
we  manage  as  our  ancestors  did  with  candle-light.  Our  candle- 
sticks form  a  quaint  collection;  some  are  real  tin  bourgeois  brought 
from  Paris,  some  strips  of  wood,  some  chewing-gum  boxes,  while 
others  are  empty  bottles,  "dead  soldiers"  as  the  boys  call  them. 
As  for  the  bottles,  I  am  particular  about  the  sort  that  I  employ 
and  none  of  mine  are  labeled  anything  but  Vittel  Water.  Others 
I  observe  are  not  so  circumspect, — yesterday  I  chanced  in  at  a  can- 
teen in  a  neighboring  village  kept  by  a  Y  man;  on  a  shelf  three 
"dead  soldier"  candlesticks  stood  in  a  row  and  their  labels  read; 
Champagne,  Cognac,  Benedictine !  For  the  rest,  the  hut  is  equipped 
with  a  wheezy  old  piano,  a  set  of  parlor  billiards,  and  a  man  secre- 
tary. It  is  invariably  dense  with  smoke,  part  wood  and  part 
tobacco,  and  usually  crowded  with  boys. 

The  first  night  after  the  Chief  had  taken  me  over  to  call  at  my 
canteen  and  I  had  had  one  cursory  glance  at  them,  I  came  back 
feeling  that  my  hut  contained  the  roughest,  toughest  set  of  young 
ruffians  that  I  had  ever  laid  eyes  on.  The  second  night  I  came 
home  and  fairly  cried  myself  to  sleep  over  them — they  seemed  so 
young,  so  pitiful  and  so  puzzled  underneath  their  air  of  bravery, 
so  far  away  from  anything  they  really  understood  and  everybody 
that  was  dear  to  them.  It  was  Cummings  in  particular  I  think 
who  did  it  for  me.  He  owns  to  seventeen  but  I  would  put  fifteen 
as  an  outside  estimate.  A  mere  boy  who  hasn't  got  his  growth  yet, 
with  soft  unformed  features  and  a  voice  as  shrill  as  a  child's,  I 
am  sure  he  ran  away  from  home  to  go  to  war  just  as  another  lad 
might  have  run  away  to  see  the  circus.  Although  the  regiment  is 
a  regular  army  organization,  a  large  part  of  the  men  were  raw  re- 
cruits only  last  summer,  a  fact  which  causes  the  old-timers,  whose 
service  dates  from  Border  days  or  before,  no  little  regret. 


COMPANY  A  7 

"This  Man's  Army  ain't  what  it  used  to  be,"  they  complain; 

rt's  getting  too  mixed." 

The  "veterans"  have  a  stock  saying  which  they  employ  to  put 
the  youngsters  in  their  places; 

"Call  yourself  a  soldier  do  you?  Why  I've  stood  parade  rest 
longer  than  you've  been  in  the  army!" 

This  is  sometimes  varied,  when  the  speaker  happens  to  be  the 
tough  sort,  by;  "Huh!  I've  put  more  time  in  the  guard-house  than 
you  have  in  the  army!" 

Tonight  a  boy  came  up  to  the  counter  and  asked : "  Coin'  to  serve 
hot  chocolate  tonight?  " 

"Sure  thing!" 

"Then  I  guess  I  won't  go  out  and  get  drunk." 

It's  going  to  be  hot  chocolate  or  die  in  that  hut  every  night  after 
this! 

BouRMONT,  November  31. 

I  don't  like  my  uniform.  I  don't  like  women  in  uniform  any- 
way. I  suppose  it  is  because  one  is  so  used  to  the  expression  of  a 
woman's  personality  in  dress  that  when  she  dons  regulation  garb 
she  seems  to  lose  so  much.  And  then  to  really  carry  off  a  uniform 
requires  a  flair,  a  dash,  a  swagger,  and  such  are  rarely  feminine 
possessions.    The  consensus  of  opinion  seems  to  bear  me  out. 

"Of  course  I  think  women  in  uniforms  look  very  snappy,  "con- 
fided a  lad  to  me  today;  "but  somehow  they  don't  look  like  women 
tome!" 

^^Pasjoli"  says  Monsieur  le  Conunandant  severely,  referring  to 
my  hat.  "Pas  jolil"  But  when  I  put  on  my  old  blue  civilian  coat 
he  fairly  goes  into  raptures. 

"Be-u-ti-ful!"  he  ejaculates.  ''BQ-u-ii-iuU  Toilette  deville.  Pas 
toilette  deY.M,C,AJ" 

Besides  the  suit  and  cape  I  had  made  in  Paris,  they  gave  me  two 
canteen  aprons,  aprons  such  as  French  working  women  wear, 
voluminous,  beplaited,  made  in  Mother  Hubbard  style.  Now 
there  is  one  point  on  which  I  am  resolved.  They  can  court  martial 
me,  they  can  send  me  home,  or  they  can  lead  me  out  and  shoot  me 


8  BOURMONT 

at  sunrise,  but  they  cannot  make  me  wear  those  aprons!  What's 
more,  the  very  first  minute  that  I  have  to  myself  I'm  going  to  cut 
them  up  and  make  them  into  canteen  dish-cloths. 

BouRMONT,  December  3. 

This  French  money  is  the  very  plague;  not  because  it  is  French 
but  because  it  is  so  flimsy.  It  may  perhaps  measure  up  to  the  na- 
tional standards,  but  it  fails  utterly  to  meet  American  require- 
ments; the  difference  lying  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  the  French  don't 
shoot  craps.  It  comes  into  the  canteen  in  all  stages  of  disintegra- 
tion. 

"She's  kinder  feeble.    Will  she  pass?"  inquires  a  lad  anxiously. 

"With  care  maybe,  and  the  help  of  a  little  sticking  plaster," 
I  reply;  and  getting  out  the  roll  of  gummed  paper  kept  handily  in 
the  cash-drawer,  I  proceed  to  patch  up  the  tattered  bill. 

"Guess  this  one  must  have  been  up  to  the  front;  it's  all  shot  to 
pieces,"  another  lad  apologizes;  then,  at  my  casual  references  to 
shooting  craps,  grins  guiltily.  "But  say  now,  ain't  it  the  rottenest 
money  you  ever  did  see?"  "The  United  States  ought  to  teach  these 
Frenchies  how  to  make  paper  money,"  remarks  a  third;  while 
still  another  adds;  "When  I'm  to  home  I  write  to  my  girl  on  better 
paper  than  that." 

Sometimes  the  bills  come  in  as  a  mere  mass  of  crumpled  tatters; 
then  one  must  play  picture-puzzle  piecing  it  together.  Sometimes 
they  are  beyond  repair;  for  at  times  you  will  receive  two  halves  of 
different  notes  pasted  neatly  together,  or  at  other  times  one  with 
the  corner  bearing  an  essential  number  lacking.  The  French  banks 
refuse  to  pay  a  cent  on  their  paper  money  unless  it  is  just  so. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  that  bill's  no  good,"  you  will  occasionally  have 
to  tell  a  boy.  Usually  he  will  grin  cheerfully  as  he  stuffs  it  back 
into  his  pocket. 

"  Oh  well,  I'll  pass  it  along  in  a  crap  game." 

Then  too,  the  boys  have  no  respect  for  foreign  money  and  so 
handle  it  carelessly  with  an  obvious  contempt  that  is  irritating 
to  the  French. 


COMPANY  A  9 

"Tain't  real  money,"  they  declare. 

The  paper  francs  and  half -francs  they  call  "soap  coupons." 

"Why,  you  might  just  as  well  be  spendin'  the  label  off  a  stick 
o*  chewin'  gum!"  they  jeer. 

Next  to  the  paper  money  that  comes  to  pieces  in  their  fingers, 
the  boys  detest  the  big  one  and  two  cent  coppers.  Known  to  the 
navy  as  "bunker-plates,"  in  the  army  they  pass  as  "clackers." 
"You  get  a  pocket-full  o'  them  things  and  you  think  you've  got 
some  money,  and  all  the  time  it  ain't  more  than  ten  cents  alto- 
gether," they  grumble. 

"I  can't  be  bothered  carryin'  that  stuff  around,"  they  declare 
when  I  beg  them  to  pay  me  in  coppers.  "I  always  throw  'em  away 
or  give  'em  to  the  kids."  A  prejudice  which  greatly  complicated 
the  matter  of  making  change  until  I  had  an  inspiration.  Now  I 
give  them  their  small  change  in  boxes  of  matches  or  sticks  of  chew- 
ing gum. 

Then  there  is  the  annoyance  of  the  local  money.  Since  the  war, 
the  cities  of  France  have  taken  to  issuing  their  own  paper  francs 
and  half-francs.  We  accept  all  this  local  money  in  the  canteens 
and  send  it  to  Paris  to  be  redeemed.  But  the  French  tradespeople 
in  general  refuse  to  honor  these  bills  except  in  the  city  that  issues 
them  or  its  immediate  vicinity.  Many  a  puzzled  dough-boy  has 
been  driven  to  indignant  protest  or  even  to  "chucking  the  stuff 
away"  in  his  exasperated  disgust  when  told  by  the  shop-keepers 
that  his  paper  money  was  pas  bon.  But  the  grievance  is  not  quite 
all  on  one  side:  no  small  amount  of  worthless  Mexican  money, 
brought  over  by  Border  veterans,  I  am  told,  was  pahned  off  on 
shopkeepers  at  the  port  when  the  Americans  first  landed! 

In  contrast  to  their  disdain  for  this  foreign  currency  the  boys 
cherish  to  a  degree  that  is  half  funny,  half  pathetic,  any  specimens 
of  "real  money"  that  they  are  lucky  enough  to  possess. 

"  Say,  I  had  an  American  dollar  bill  in  my  hand  the  other  day, — 
I  felt  just  as  if  the  old  flag  was  waving  over  me!"  And  another  lad; 
"Saw  a  U.  S.  Dollar  bill  today.  Oh  boy!  but  it  looked  a  mile 
long  to  me!" 


10  BOURMONT 

If  anyone  displays  an  American  greenback  at  the  counter  a  little 
riot  is  sure  to  ensue.  All  the  boys  nearby  crowd  about,  feast  their 
eyes  on  it,  touch  it,  pat  it,  kiss  it  even. 

"Lemme  see!"  "Ain't  she  a  beauty?"  "That's  the  real  stuff!" 
"Say,  how  much  will  you  sell  her  for?" 

Even  the  half-dollars,  quarters  and  dimes  are  precious. 

"You  don't  get  that  one,"  they  say  as  they  pull  a  handful  of 
change  from  their  pockets.  "That's  my  lucky  piece.  I'm  savin* 
that  there  Uttle  oV  nickel  to  spend  on  Broadway." 

French  money,  Belgian  money,  Swiss  money,  English  money, 
Spanish  money,  ItaUan  money,  Greek  money,  Canadian  money, 
Luxembourg  money,  Indo-Chinese  money,  money  from  Argentine 
Republic,  and  yesterday  a  German  mark  even,  all  come  across  the 
counter  and  go  into  the  till  without  comment.  But  when  any 
American  money  comes  in  I  always  feel  badly  over  it.  For,  be  it 
a  crisp  five  dollar  bill,  an  eagle  quarter  or  only  a  buffalo  nickel 
I  know  it  signifies  just  one  thing, — ^bankruptcy. 

BouRMONT,  December  7. 

To  be  a  corporal  in  the  Ninth  Infantry,  it  is  said,  a  man  must  be 
able  to  speak  eight  languages,  one  for  each  soldier  in  his  squad.  The 
same  could  be  said  with  almost  equal  truth  of  our  regiment.  I 
don't  know  whether  it  is  this  mixture  of  many  nationalities  that 
gives  my  family  its  flavour;  be  that  as  it  may.  Company  A  has 
more  color,  more  character,  more  individuality  to  the  square  inch 
than  I  had  dreamed  any  such  group  could  possess.  And  they  are 
so  funny,  so  engaging  in  their  infinite  variety  and  their  child-like 
naivete! 

First  there  are  Gatts  and  Maggioni;  Gatts,  lean,  tall,  honest- 
eyed,  with  a  grin  that  won't  come  off  and  a  quaint  streak  of  humour, 
— Gatts  who  looks  pure  Yankee,  but  is,  if  the  truth  were  told, 
three-quarters  German, — Gatts  who  hangs  about  my  counter 
hour  after  hour;  and  by  his  side  sticks  Uttle  Maggioni,  who  told 
the  recruiting  officer  that  he  was  seventeen  but  whose  head  just 
tops  the  canteen  shelf,  and  who  looks,  with  his  pink  cheeks  and  his 


COMPANY  A  II 

great  dark  eyes,  like  nothing  in  the  world  but  an  Italian  cupid  in 
the  sulks.    The  two  have  struck  up  the  oddest  comradeship. 

"Me  an'  Gatts,  we're  goin  'to  stick  side  by  side,"  explains  Mag- 
gioni,  "  an'  if  I  see  a  crowd  o'  Germans  pilin'  onto  him,  why  I'll 
just  go  right  after  'em,  an'  if  too  many  of  'em  come  for  me  ter 
oncet,  why  Gatts  here,  he'll  just  lay  right  into  'em." 

And  Gatts  nods,  looking  down  at  Maggioni  with  a  parent's 
indulgent  eye. 

"He  thinks  he's  a  tough  guy  for  sich  a  little  feller,"  he  comments 
reflectively;  "but  he's  the  only  one  in  the  regiment  that  knows  it." 

"You  all  think  I'm  mighty  little!"  snaps  the  cupid.  "When  I 
joined  at  Syracuse  everybody  said  to  me  'Baby,  where'd  you  leave 
your  cradle? '  But  lemme  tell  you,  I've  growed  since  I've  been  in 
the  army!" 

"Waal  I  do  believe  there's  one  part  of  him  that's  growed;" 
Gatts  is  very  solemn. 

"What's  that?"  I  ask. 

"His  feet." 

Private  Gatts  has  promised  me  one  of  the  Kaiser's  ears! 

Then  there  is  Brady,  "Devil  Brady"  the  Uttle  black  Irish  coal- 
miner  from  Oklahoma,  who  spends  his  days  trying  to  get  put  in 
the  guard-house,  so  he  won't  have  to  drill. 

"I'm  plumb  disgusted,"  he  confided  to  me  today.  "I  never 
worked  so  hard  in  my  Hfe  as  I  did  the  other  night  gettin'  drunk, 
an'  then  the  guard  was  so  much  drunker  than  I  was,  I  had  to  carry 
him  to  the  guard-house.  I  thought  sure  they'd  give  me  thirty  days 
at  least,  but  they  only  kept  me  twenty-four  hours  and  then  out!" 

"Hard  luck,"  I  sympathized. 

"I  just  knew  how  it  would  be,"  he  mourned.  "It  was  Friday 
the  thirteenth  when  I  joined  the  army;  there  were  just  thirteen  of 
us  fellers,  and  the  thirteenth  was  a  nigger." 

He  tells  me  the  most  wonderful  yarns  about  the  miners  and  their 
pet  rats,  about  explosions  and  disasters  and  rescue  parties.  Last 
night  he  told  me  the  story  of  one  mine-horror  that  will  stick  in  my 
memory. 


12  BOURMONT 

"And  we  shoveled  the  last  three  men  and  a  mule  into  one  bag," 
he  finished. 

Now  and  then  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  Jenicho  the  Russian  giant, 
but  he  is  very  shy.  A  huge  lumbering  fellow,  sluggish,  and  seem- 
ingly stupid,  with  little  pig  eyes  that  are  quite  lost  to  sight  when  he 
smiles,  Jenicho  is  the  butt  of  the  Company.  When  he  joined  the 
regiment  last  summer,  they  tell  me,  he  knew  no  word  of  English. 
The  first  phrase  that  he  acquired  was;  "You  no  bodder  me."  For 
the  boys  can't  resist  the  temptation  to  plague  Jenicho,  and  though 
his  strength  is  such  that  if  he  once  should  get  his  hands  on  his 
tormentors  he  could  break  them  into  bits,  he  is  so  slow  withal  that 
they  always  can  elude  him.  Not  long  ago  Jenicho  was  walking 
post  one  night  when  the  Officer  of  the  Day  hailed  him  and  an- 
nounced himself.  To  which  Jenicho  lustily  responded;  "Me  no 
give  damn.  Me  walk  post,  gun  loaded,  bay'net  fixed.  You  no 
bodder  me.  Me  shoot!"  And  the  Officer  of  the  Day  discreetly 
walked  on. 

Then  there  is  Httle  Philip  R.  who  plays  our  decrepit  old  piano 
quite  brilliantly  by  ear,  and  who  is,  he  tells  me,  half  Greek  and 
half  Egyptian.  Philip  R.  is  the  pet  of  a  French  family  in  one  of  the 
neighboring  villages.  He  stopped  at  a  house  to  ask  for  a  drink  of 
water  when  out  walking  one  day.  Madame  asked  him  in,  pressed 
him  to  stay  to  supper.  The  family  made  much  of  him,  and  all 
because  forsooth  he  was  the  first  "American"  they  had  ever  seen. 
Since  then  he  has  been  a  constant  welcome  visitor. 

There  is  St.  Mary  too.  If  you  can  conceive  of  a  cherub  eating 
watermelon  you  have  a  perfect  picture  of  St.  Mary.  St.  Mary 
converses  entirely  in  words  of  one  syllable  and  very  few  at  that. 
He  makes  smiles  serve  for  speech.  St.  Mary  loses  everything  he 
owns;  not  long  ago  he  lost  his  overcoat,  now  he  has  lost  his  bayonet. 
Yet  St.  Mary  is  the  best  natured  boy  in  the  company;  he  needs  to 
be.  When  St.  Mary  helps  me  stir  the  chocolate  it  seems  as  if  half 
the  company  lined  up  on  the  other  side  of  the  counter  to  shout; 
"St.  Mary!  Take  your  dirty  hands  out  er  that  there  chocolate!" 
and  St.  Mary  never  says  a  word  but  grins  until  his  eyes  are  nothing 


COMPANY  A  13 

but  little  slits  and  ducks  his  head  until  only  the  curls  on  top  are 
visible. 

"St.  Mary,  he's  kind  o'  simple,"  explains  Private  Gatts.  "But 
there  ain't  anybody  in  camp  that's  got  a  better  heart." 

And  there  is  Bruno,  Angelo  Bruno,  a  Uttle  grinning  goblin  of  a 
man,  but  strong,  they  say,  as  a  gorilla.  Bruno  gives  the  non-coms 
no  end  of  trouble;  he's  a  "  tough  nut  to  manage."  Whenever  he  is 
told  to  do  anything  that  does  not  suit  his  tastes,  he  merely  shrugs 
his  shoulders,  "No  capish,"  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  The  other  day 
while  on  guard  he  was  interrogated  by  the  Officer  of  the  Day. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Bruno." 

"What  are  your  general  orders?" 

"Angelo." 

The  Officer  gasped,  thought  he  would  try  again.  "What  are 
your  special  orders?  " 

Bruno  saw  a  light.    "They're  ina  my  pock!" 

When  I  first  came  to  Saint  Thiebault  I  was  puzzled  by  the  silver 
half-francs  in  my  cash  drawer  which  were  bent  in  the  middle, 
some  of  them  so  far  as  almost  to  form  a  right-angle.  Then  the 
boys  explained.  Bruno  was  once  a  strong  man  in  a  circus  side- 
show. He  did  things  with  his  teeth.  The  crooked  half-francs  were 
the  results  of  his  exhibiting  his  prowess  to  the  boys.  So  now  when 
damaged  half-francs  appear  I  know  that  our  httle  Angelo  has  been 
trying  his  teeth  again.  At  present  our  social  intercourse  with 
Bruno  is  limited.  He  is  serving  thirty  days  in  the  guard-house. 
But  every  day  or  two  he  sHps  into  the  hut  to  do  his  shopping,  the 
kind-hearted  guard  standing  at  the  door,  as  he  does  so,  a  sheepish 
look  on  his  face.  If  there  is  one  military  duty  which  the  dough- 
boy hates  above  all  others,  it  is  this  job  of  "chasing  prisoners," 
and  when  you  meet  a  file  of  guard-house  habitues  escorted  by  a 
rifle  in  the  rear,  it  is  invariably  the  guard,  and  not  the  prisoners, 
who  looks  the  culprit!  The  interest  of  Bruno's  visits  lies  largely 
in  seeing  what  is  his  latest  acquisition  in  the  way  of  jewelry.  For 
Bruno  has  a  pretty  taste  for  finery  and  enlivens  the  dull  evenings 


14  BOURMONT 

of  his  captivity  by  winning  away  the  ornaments  of  his  fellow 
prisoners.  Already  he  has  come  into  the  canteen  decked  out  with 
seven  large  rings  and  a  fat  watch  and  chain.  Today  he  appeared 
with  his  latest  prize,  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  eye  glasses.  They  are 
hideously  unbecoming,  they  pinch  his  nose  so  that  it  hurts,  more- 
over he  can't  more  than  half  see  out  of  them,  and  yet  it  is  quite 
evident  those  eyeglasses  are  the  pride  of  his  heart. 

Last  week  our  Secretary  conceived  a  big  idea.  He  would  edu- 
cate A  Company.  He  would  teach  them  to  read,  write  and  speak 
English.  He  started  a  class.  On  the  first  night  there  was  a  large 
crowd,  eager  and  interested;  the  second  night  there  were  six,  the 
pupils  when  sought  out  complaining  they  were  "tired"  or  "busy;" 
the  third  night  there  was  Saint  Mary  who  made  one;  the  fourth 
night  the  class  died  an  easy  death.  I  am  afraid  Company  A  is 
going  to  continue  uneducated.    As  Brady  said: 

"There  were  just  two  things  I  learned  in  school;  one  was  to  throw 
a  spit  ball,  the  other  was  to  bend  a  pin  convenient  for  somebody 
to  sit  on."   And  it  looks  as  if  it  would  have  to  go  at  that. 

"Why,  those  birds  don't  even  understand  their  own  names," 
complain  the  oflScers;  "except  on  pay-day,  and  then  they'll  answer 
no  matter  how  you  pronounce  them." 

BouRMONT,  December  9. 

There  is  something  queer  about  me.  I  don't  mind  the  mud,  I 
don't  mind  the  rain,  I  don't  mind  the  hill,  I  don't  even  mind  the 
mess.  Of  course  I  admit  that  the  food  isn't  quite  what  one  is 
used  to,  and  the  surroundings  are  a  trifle  unsavoury,  but  it  is, 
after  all,  so  much  better  than  the  state  of  semi-starvation  that  I 
was  led  to  half  anticipate,  that  I  for  one  am  quite  content. 

Our  mess  is  held  at  the  house  of  an  old  couple  who  live  a  little 
'way  above  our  billet  on  the  hill.  The  house  was  differentiated  from 
the  others  in  the  row  by  a  spindling  and  discouraged  tree  which 
stood  in  a  green  tub  outside;  as  this  was  the  only  tree  in  front  of  a 
house  on  the  whole  street  it  has  always  been  easy  to  pick  out  our 
otherwise  undistinguished  entrance.     Last  night  however,  the 


COMPANY  A  15 

♦breather  waxing  colder,  the  tree  moved  indoors.  This  morning  the 
whole  Y.  personnel  wandered  distractedly  up  and  down  the  hill 
trying  to  identify  the  mess-house  door,  until  some  kindly  villagers, 
sensing  the  situation,  came  out  on  their  front  steps  and  pointed  us 
to  the  place. 

The  house,  Uke  most  of  the  village  dwellings,  consists,  down- 
stairs, of  just  two  rooms.  In  the  front  room  the  family  cooks, 
eats  and  spends  its  days.  In  the  back  room  the  family  sleeps,  and 
here  we  have  our  mess.  The  drawback  of  this  arrangement  is 
that  one  has  to  pass  through  the  kitchen  in  order  to  reach  the  dining- 
room  and  this  is  likely  to  spoil  one's  pleasure  in  the  meal  that 
follows.  As  for  me,  I  go  on  the  principle  that  what  one  doesn't 
know  won't  take  one's  appetite  away,  and  so  hurry  through  the 
kitchen  with  one  eye  shut  and  the  other  fixed  on  the  door  ahead 
of  me. 

Said  my  right-hand  neighbor  to  my  left-hand  neighbor  at  supper 
the  other  day,  as  he  offered  him  the  pidce  de  resistance  of  the  meal: 
*'You  aren't  taking  rice  tonight?" 

"Thanks  no.    Saw  the  old  lady  picking  'em  out  this  noon." 

"That's  nothing.  I  saw  the  old  man  picking  'em  out  of  the  beans 
yesterday." 

But  why  should  people  come  to  war  if  they  are  going  to  be  so 
squeamish? 

A  few  days  ago  one  rash  soul  among  us  conceived  a  hankering 
for  salad.  She  went  to  Madame  and,  being  ignorant  of  the  French 
word,  demanded  simply. 

"Avez-vous  lettice?" 

Madame  shook  her  head  uncomprehending,  but  finally  as  the 
words  were  repeated  a  light  dawned. 

"-4/f  out  J  oui,  ouir* 

She  turned  and  hurried  upstairs,  descending  triumphantly  a 
moment  later  with  a  large  bundle  of  old  letters!  In  just  what  form 
she  expected  us  to  have  them  served  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to 
ascertain. 

The  mess-room  is  so  crowded  that  to  reach  a  seat  often  requires 


i6  BOURMONT 

considerable  mancEUvering.  In  one  comer  stands  an  ancient  dress- 
maker's dummy — ^by  popular  vote  awarded  as  sweetheart  to  the 
most  bashful  man  at  table;  in  the  comer  opposite  is  the  bed  of 
Madame  and  Monsieur.  The  men  who  get  up  for  early  breakfast, 
swallow  their  bread  and  jam  and  coffee  with  Monsieur  watching 
from  his  couch  of  ease.  Today  Madame  was  indisposed  and  when 
we  came  to  supper  we  found  that  she  had  retired  already.  All 
through  the  meal  she  lay  there,  under  the  red  feather-bed,  looking 
like  a  dingy,  weazened  old  corpse,  staring  at  the  ceiling,  her  mouth 
wide  open. 

For  the  last  few  days  we  have  had  a  visiting  clergyman  with  us. 
To  all  appearances  a  meek  and  long-suffering  httle  man,  he  has  been 
giving  special  revivalistic  discourses  at  the  huts  and  eating  at  our 
mess.  This  moming  he  was  asked  to  say  grace.  In  the  middle  of  a 
long  and  eamest  exhortation  I  was  startled  to  hear  these  words: 
"Oh  Lord,  Thou  knowest  we  are  apt  to  grow  lean  and  to  starve  in 
Thy  service!"  I  fairly  had  to  stuff  one  of  the  one  franc  canteen 
handkerchiefs,  which  serve  as  napkins  at  the  mess,  into  my  mouth 
to  keep  from  laughing. 


BouRMONT,  December  12. 

In  Paris  a  man  who  lectured  to  us  said : "  Get  the  fellows  who  have 
influence  with  you,  and  you  can  swing  the  crowd."  Sometimes 
I  think  that  if  Pat  were  our  enemy  instead  of  our  friend  we  might 
almost  as  well  shut  up  the  hut.  For  Pat  the  sharp-shooter,  Pat  the 
dare-devil,  Pat,  who  in  company  phrase  "has  Harry  Lauder  and 
George  Cohen  stopped  in  a  hundred  places,"  Pat  the  happy-go- 
lucky  adventurer  is  one  of  the  leading  spirits  in  Company  A.  He 
has  served,  it  seems,  already  in  the  war  with  the  Canadian  army. 

"But  how  did  you  get  out  of  it?"  I  asked. 

Whereupon  Pat  regaled  me  with  a  wonderful  rigmarole  involving 
an  extraordinary  case — ^his  own — of  shell-shock  out  of  which  I  could 
make  neither  head  nor  tail.  Later,  from  one  of  the  Secretaries 
who  had  been  at  Saint  Thiebault  before  I  came,  I  learned  the  truth. 


COMPANY  A  17 

When  America  had  declared  war,  Pat  had  deserted  from  the  Canad- 
ian in  order  to  enlist  in  the  American  army.  Pat  had  showed  him  a 
letter  from  one  of  his  old-time  friends;  it  ended: 

"Of  course  I  wouldn't  think  of  spUtting  on  an  old  pal  like  you, 
Pat,  but  I  do  need  twenty  dollars  like  hell." 

"What  did  you  do?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

"Sure  an'  I  sent  him  the  money,"  grinned  Pat. 

Shortly  after  I  first  became  acquainted  with  him,  Pat,  who  is 
naturally  gallant,  with  a  tongue  incUned  to  blarney,  extracted  a 
promise  from  me.  Some  day,  after  the  war,  if  we  should  happen  to 
meet,  say,  strolling  down  Fifth  Avenue,  Pat  "dressed  in  a  nice 
blue  serge  suit"  is  going  to  "take  me  away  from  the  other  feller" 
and  take  me  out  to  dinner.  It  was  after  solemly  pledging  my  word 
to  this  agreement  that  I  learned  that  Pat  had  formerly  been  a 
saloon  keeper  and  had  had  an  extensive  police-court  record.  Im- 
mediately I  began  to  hope  that  Pat  would  forget  that  post-war 
party,  but  not  he.  Instead,  he  is  constantly  reminding  me  of  it, 
always  before  an  audience,  dwelling  on  it  and  elaborating  it,  until 
now  I  find  it  has  grown  from  a  mere  dinner,  to  dinner,  the  theatre 
and  a  dance! 

Lithe,  wiry,  lean-faced  with  close-cropped  hair,  pale  blue  gimlet 
eyes  and  an  almost  unvarying  expression  of  intense  seriousness  on 
his  face,  Pat,  when  present,  is  the  life  of  the  hut.  Forever  at  his 
clowning,  you  would  never  dream  from  his  demeanour  that  Pat's 
domestic  affairs  are  in  a  state  little  short  of  catastrophic.  His  wife, 
according  to  her  photograph  a  handsome,  sullen,  passionate  type, 
half  Mexican,  ran  away  about  a  year  ago,  taking  with  her  all  his 
money  that  happened  to  be  handy,  together  with  his  new  auto- 
mobile. Encountering  some  of  Pat's  friends,  she  had  explained 
her  apparently  care-free  single  state  by  telling  them  that  Pat  was 
dead.  Now  she  has  discovered  that  Pat  is  in  France,  she  is  all  for 
reconciHation.  She  has  written  him  a  letter  in  which  she  addresses 
him  as  her  dear  husband  about  six  times  to  each  sheet,  informing 
him  that  she  needs  money,  and  inquiring  of  him  what  he  wished  her 
to  do  with  his  clothes. 


i8  BOURMONT 

"What  did  you  answer?"  I  asked,  for  Pat,  who  must  always 
share  his  correspondence,  had  shown  me  the  letter. 

"I  told  her,"  grinned  Pat,  "she  cu'd  keep  the  clothes  and  maybe 
she'd  find  another  man  to  fit  'em." 

But  there  is  another  and  more  serious  side  to  the  matter.  It 
seems  that  the  lady  in  the  case  has  written  to  the  Captain  of  A 
Company,  requesting  him  to  forward  a  large  proportion  of  Pat's 
pay  to  his  deserving  and  indigent  wife.  Whether  or  not  this  will 
be  done  is  still  uncertain.  Pat  refuses  to  discuss  the  possibihties, 
but  from  the  gUnt  in  his  eyes  I  have  a  premonition  that  if  next  pay 
day  Pat  finds  any  considerable  deduction  made  from  his  pay,  that 
that  night  one  wild  Irishman  will  run  amuck  in  Saint  Thiebault. 

Occasionally  in  the  midst  of  Pat's  racy  discourses  I  overhear 
things  not  meant  for  my  ears,  such  as  his  remarking  how  in 
Rochester  once  he  "went  on  a  seven  day's  pickle  in  company  with 
a  female  dreadnut."  But  usually  he  is  very  careful  to  only  "pull 
gentle  stuff"  in  my  hearing.  The  other  day  he  delivered  himself 
of  a  wonderful  dissertation  on  the  deceitfulness  of  pious  people, 
ending  with  this  gem; 

"  So  whenever  I  see  one  of  these  guys  comin'  towards  me  with  a 
gold  crown  on  his  bean,  looking'  as  if  he  couldn't  sin  if  he  had  to, 
why  I  nip  tight  on  to  my  pocket-book  and  I  cross  to  the  other  side 
of  the  street!" 

To-day  Pat  came  into  the  canteen  with  a  newspaper  clipping 
and  a  letter  to  show  me.   The  letter  was  from  the  Chief  of  Police  of 

K. ,  one  of  the  many  cities  in  which  Pat  has  resided  during  his 

short  but  crowded  life,  the  clipping  from  the  K Daily  Sheet. 

The  clipping  was  comprised  of  a  letter  which  Pat  had  written  to 
the  Chief  of  Police  giving  in  humorous  phrase  his  version  of  fife  in 
France  and  an  accompanying  paragraph  stating  that  though  the 
writer  had  given  the  police  force  no  httle  anxiety  during  his  resi- 
dence in  K ,  still  he  had  been  in  spite  of  all,  a  good-hearted 

and  Ukable  rascal,  and  now  that  he  had  gone  to  war  for  his  coun- 
try, bygones  should  be  bygones  and  K must  be  proud  of  him. 

The  letter  from  the  Chief  was  in  much  the  same  vein. 


COMPANY  A  19 

"Yes,"  ruminated  Pat;  "I  kept  the  old  feller  pretty  busy,  though 
me  an'  him  were  friends  just  the  same.  But  it  sure  would  get  the 
old  man's  goat,  just  after  he'd  had  me  up  and  fined  me,  to  come 
home  and  see  me  settin'  at  his  dinner-table  alongside  of  his  pretty 
daughter." 

BouRMONT,  December  14. 

Because  it  took  too  much  time  right  in  the  most  important  part 
of  the  day  to  climb  Bourmont  Hill  for  mess  at  night,  I  have  ar- 
ranged to  take  my  suppers  with  two  little  old  ladies  here  in  Saint 
Thiebault.  The  suppers  are  to  consist  of  a  bowl  of  cocoa  and  a  slice 
of  bread  with  jam.  The  Httle  ladies  supply  the  bread  and  milk  for 
the  cocoa  and  I  supply  the  rest,  paying  them  one  franc  a  day. 

At  half-past  five  I  put  on  my  things,  light  my  Uttle  candle- 
lantern  and  set  forth.  The  boys,  coming  in  after  mess,  will  be 
crowding  the  hut;  a  chorus  of  anxious  voices  queries. 

"You're  comin'  back  sure,  ain't  you?" 

And,  "What  time  is  that  hot  chocolate  goin'  to  be  ready?" 

I  pick  my  way  down  the  slippery  duck-boards  to  the  highway. 
Trudging  along  the  muddy  road,  friendly  voices  hail  me  from  the 
dark.  I  am  known  by  the  Httle  light  I  carry.  At  number  two 
Rue  Dieu  I  rap  and  enter,  trying  desperately  to  leave  some  of  the 
mud  from  my  boots  on  the  door-step,  for  in  this  land  of  wooden 
shoes  scrapers  are  as  unknown  as  they  are  unnecessary.  Once 
inside  I  have  to  fairly  strain  my  eyes  in  order  to  be  able  to  see  any- 
thing, for  all  the  light  in  the  room  is  supplied  by  the  embers  on  the 
hearth  and  one  tiny  gasolene  lamp  with  a  flame  not  much  bigger 
than  the  point  of  a  lead  pencil.  Kerosene  is  unobtainable  for  civilian 
use;  the  price  of  candles  is  prohibitive. 

"C'e5/  la  guerre.  Oest  la  miserej"  say  the  little  old  ladies.  "One 
must  sit  in  the  dark — "C'est  triste  comme  qa" 

My  candle  doubles  the  illumination,  yet  in  spite  of  that,  so 
strong  is  the  instinct  for  economy,  they  will  not  rest  easy  until  they 
have  blown  it  out. 

The  little  old  ladies  are  cousins.    The  elder  of  the  two,  "Ma- 


20  BOURMONT 

dame,"  is  lame  and  has  snow-white  hair.  She  sits  by  the  fire  always 
in  the  self-same  spot.  The  younger,  "Mademoiselle,"  is  a  tiny 
dwarfish  creature  with  a  back  that  is  not  quite  straight.  Over  her 
dark  dress  she  wears  a  jaunty  little  scarlet  apron  sewn  with  black 
polka  dots.  I  am  grateful  for  that  apron;  it  makes  the  one  bit  of 
color  in  the  sombre  room. 

I  sit  in  front  of  the  fire  at  the  round  table  and  sip  my  chocolate. 
The  table  has  an  oil-cloth  cover  on  which  is  printed  a  map  of 
France,  so  as  I  eat  my  supper  I  can  take  a  lesson  in  geography. 
It  is  a  pre-war  tablecloth  I  fancy;  over  at  one  edge  shows  a  slice 
of  Germany.  The  Uttle  old  ladies  point  to  that  side  of  the  table 
with  scorn,  ^^Les  sales  Boches  sont  Id!"  they  explain. 

I  wonder  that  it  doesn't  give  them  heart-burn  to  look  down  and 
see  the  captive  and  devastated  districts  of  France  lying  beneath 
their  tea  cups.  Think  of  setting  your  salt-cellar  on  the  city  of 
Lille  or  your  mustard  pot  on  the  sacred  citadel  of  Verdun! 

As  I  sup  I  endeavour  to  converse  politely,  but  as  my  French 
is  little  more  than  camouflage,  this  is  a  dubious  proceeding. 
Whenever  I  prove  particularly  stupid,  out  of  the  comer  of  my  eye 
I  catch  Madame  shaking  her  old  head  at  Mademoiselle  despair- 
ingly. 

"Elle  ne  comprend  pas!"  she  murmurs  sotto  voce,  pityingly; 
^^elle  ne  comprend  pas!  " 

At  odd  times  they  turn  an  honest  penny  by  doing  a  little  sewing 
for  the  villagers.  But  life  is  very  difficult  these  days:  the  prices 
of  everything  have  gone  so  high.  Why,  wooden  shoes  that  cost 
five  francs  before  the  war  now  fetch  fifteen! 

Tonight  I  noticed  an  item  in  a  Parisian  Journal  lying  by  my 
plate.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  at  the  Madeleine  that  day  Mile. 
X  had  married  Lieut.  Z.,  a  veteran  of  the  war  who  had  lost  both 
arms  and  both  legs.    I  showed  it  to  the  Httle  ladies. 

^^Ah  out!"  sighed  Mademoiselle  with  a  shiver.  ^^Etle  a  beau- 
coup  de  courage  J  celle-W" 

And  Madame  shook  her  white  head  and  echoed.  "Omj,  elle  a 
beaucoup  de  courage!" 


COMPANY  A  21 

Upstairs  an  American  officer  is  billeted.  I  fancy  his  presence 
supplies  a  certain  dash  of  romance  to  the  little  old  ladies'  lives. 
The  Americans  are  nice,  they  say,  and  make  little  noise  in  the 
village;  when  the  Russians  were  here  it  was  different. 

*'It  will  be  lonely  when  the  Americans  are  gone,"  sighs  Madem- 
oiselle.   "The  houses  will  seem  empty.'* 


BouRMONT,  December  i8. 

Yesterday  I  explored  the  top  of  Bourmont  Hill.  It  is  here  that 
the  QuaUty  Folk  Uve,  and  here  are  some  stately  old  houses  with 
beautiful  carved  doorways  and  even  an  occasional  gargoyle.  Here 
too  the  general  commanding  the  Division  hves,  and  I  have  often 
observed  with  glee  corpulent  colonels  and  rotund  majors  puffing 
and  blowing  and  growing  red  in  the  face  as  they  climbed  the  hill  to 
Headquarters.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  there  are  two  churches. 
Some  two  weeks  ago,  it  is  whispered,  a  spy  was  caught  signaling 
from  the  tower  of  Notre  Dame.  His  signals,  it  is  said,  were  flashed 
to  another  spy  stationed  on  the  hills  to  the  east,  who  in  turn  sent 
the  messages  on  to  the  lines.  The  Cur6  of  Notre  Dame  is  being 
held  under  suspicion  of  complicity. 

From  Notre  Dame  an  avenue  bordered  by  magnificent  old  trees 
sweeps  around  to  the  Calvary,  a  tall  wooden  cross  surmounting  a 
curious  structure  of  rough  stone,  ringed  about  with  shallow  steps — 
the  Mecca  of  many  pilgrimages.  Beyond  the  Calvary  one  comes 
to  the  Mystery  of  Bourmont.  A  faded  sign  declares  Defense  d'^ntr^e^ 
but  one  looks  the  other  way  and  slips  by.  For  once  past  the  gate 
you  are  in  an  atmosphere  of  enchantment.  No  one  seems  to  know 
just  what  it  is,  nor  how  it  came  about;  I  can  get  no  intelligent  ex- 
planation from  Madame  or  Monsieur.  To  me  it  seems  like  the  for- 
gotten playground  of  an  old  mad  king  in  some  fantastic  legend. 
For  here  among  the  trees  are  stone  stairs,  walls  and  terraces,  and, 
cut  in  the  curiously  cleft  rocks,  are  niches  and  tunnelled  passage- 
ways, all  mantled  over  now  with  green  moss  and  ivy,  the  whole 
making  one  think  of  a  dream  garden  out  of  MaeterUnck. 


22  BOURMONT 

Coming  down  Bourmont  Hill  afterwards  I  was  startled  by  the 
beating  of  a  drum;  looking  back  I  saw  a  woman,  bare-headed,  her 
blue  apron  fluttering  in  the  wind,  descending  the  street  after  me; 
from  her  shoulders  was  slung  the  drum  which  she  was  beating  with  a 
martial  vim.  It  was  the  town-crier,  le  tambour  as  the  French  put 
it.  Arrived  at  an  appropriate  spot,  she  stopped,  pulled  out  a  paper, 
cried  "^wV"  and  began  to  read  in  a  rapid  high  official  monotone. 
The  wash-house  was  to  be  closed  between  two  and  four  o'clock  the 
following  afternoon  on  account  of  the  new  water  system  the  Amer- 
icans were  installing.  Certain  requisitions  of  grain  were  to  be 
levied.  .  .  .  The  villagers  were  notified  to  call  at  the  Mayory 
for  their  bread  cards,  without  which,  after  such  a  date,  no  bread 
could  be  obtained.  .  .  .  One  or  two  women  came  to  the  doors  of 
the  houses  and  Kstened.  She  took  no  notice  of  them.  The  reading 
over,  she  rolled  the  paper  up  with  a  quick  decisive  gesture,  and  re- 
sumed her  march,  the  sharp  rub-a-dub-dub  of  her  drum  pursuing 
me  all  the  way  to  Saint  Thiebault. 

Of  late  the  air  has  become  fairly  vibrant  with  disquieting  rum- 
ours: one  does  not  know  what  to  believe,  what  to  reject. 

The  Germans  are  massing  for  a  gigantic  drive  on  Nancy.  In 
three  weeks,  some  say,  the  offensive  is  to  begin;  three  days,  say 
others.  Nancy  is  to  be  another  Verdun.  If  they  break  through 
they  will  pass  this  way.  The  American  troops  are  being  withdrawn 
from  this  neighborhood:  any  day  the  order  may  come  for  us  to 
leave.  At  Paris  the  political  situation  is  dark.  Some  people  even 
fear  a  popular  uprising  against  the  government.  I  hinted  at  this 
to  Monsieur,  he  shook  his  old  head  hopelessly.  But  yes,  things 
were  in  a  bad  way.  Now  if  France  only  had  Veelson  at  her  head! 
France  and  Veelson!  His  gesture  indicated  the  grandeur  of  such  a 
contingency.  As  it  was,  France  lacked  a  leader.  And  under- 
neath all  this  runs  another  rumour,  still  darker,  still  more  dis- 
quieting. The  French,  the  gallant  French,  they  say,  are  "laying 
down."  They  are  ready  to  make  peace  at  any  price.  They  are 
played  out,  sick  to  death  of  it  all! 

"Forty-two  months  in  the  trenches!"  cried  a  sergeant  en  per* 


COMPANY  A  23 

mission  last  night;  "It  is  enough!  I  am  through.  Let  the  Ameri- 
cans do  it!" 

And  this  feehng,  they  tell  us,  is  wide-spread.  The  people  see 
our  soldiers  day  after  day,  in  the  training  camps,  inactive.  "  What 
are  they  here  for?"  they  are  asking.  "Why  don't  they  fight? 
Are  they  going  to  wait  until  it  is  all  over?  " 

Will  our  soldiers,  half-trained  as  they  are,  and  a  mere  handful, 
be  forced,  to  satisfy  them,  into  the  trenches? 

In  the  canteen  I  look  into  the  boys'  faces  and  smile,  but  my  heart 
turns  sick  within  me. 

BouRMONT,  December  20. 

Such  a  strange,  incredible  thing  has  happened, — a  thing  that  has 
upset  all  my  preconceived  ideas  of  human  nature.  It  began  with 
Malotzzi.  Malotzzi  as  his  name  betrays  is  a  "  wop; "  he  is  also  the 
smallest  fellow  in  the  company  which  contains  many  small  men. 
Nor  is  he  only  small,  but  with  his  thin  olive-tinted  face  and  his 
slender  body,  he  looks  so  delicate,  so  ethereal  that  you  feel  a  breath 
of  wind  might  fairly  blow  him  away.  To  the  company  he  is  "a 
good  kid,  quiet,  never  makes  any  trouble."  To  me  he  has  always 
seemed  an  elfin,  changeling  creature,  a  strayed  pixie,  whose  imp- 
ishness  has  turned  to  gentleness.  Child  of  the  tenements  that  he 
is,  he  is  possessed  of  the  most  exquisite  old-fashioned  courtesy  that 
I  have  ever  yet  encountered;  and  he  has  the  starriest  eyes  of  any 
mortal  bom. 

Not  long  ago  he  came  to  the  counter  to  show  me  a  postcard  from 
his  sweetheart.  It  had  an  ugly  picture  of  a  red  brick  city  block 
upon  it,  and  the  message  scrawled  in  an  unformed  hand  beneath 
contained  little  except  the  simple  declaration  that  when  he  came 
home  she  would  go  with  him  to  the  photographer's  over  the  candy 
store  at  the  corner  and  they  would  have  their  pictures  taken  to- 
gether. Yet  no  flaming  and  lyric  love-letter  could  have  rendered 
him  more  naively  proud.  Malotzzi  with  a  sweetheart!  It  was 
absurd,  he  was  nothing  but  a  child!  I  can  well  believe  that 
Malotzzi  wouldn't  make  a  very  "snappy"  soldier. 


24  BOURMONT 

This  afternoon  when  the  company  was  out  for  drill,  a  certain 
Second  Lieutenant  discovered  that  Malotzzi  hadn't  got  his  pack 
rolled  up  right.  This  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  offended  in 
this  manner.  The  Lieutenant  had  warned  him.  He  was  angry.  He 
took  Malotzzi  over  to  the  bath-house,  stripped  off  his  blouse, 
tied  his  hands  so  he  couldn't  struggle,  and  beat  him  with  a  gun- 
strap  until  he  fainted. 

The  story  flashed  around  the  camp.  When  I  came  back  from 
supper  I  found  the  boys  at  white-heat  with  indignation.  They 
fairly  seethed  with  anger.  I  think  if  the  Lieutenant  had  happened 
in,  they  might  have  killed  him.  Presently  a  Httle  crowd  carried 
Malotzzi  in.  They  rolled  back  his  sleeves  and  showed  me  the  great 
purple  welts  upon  his  arms.  His  back  was  all  like  that,  they  said. 
He  had  to  be  held  up  in  order  to  keep  his  feet. 

"You  had  better  take  him  to  the  hospital,"  I  told  them. 

They  carried  him  out  again.  He  is  at  the  hospital  now,  where 
he  is  likely  to  stay  for  some  time.  His  lungs  are  delicate  and  the 
beating  caused  congestion.  The  medical  officer  made  a  report 
and  the  Lieutenant  has  been  placed  under  arrest. 

I  have  never  met  the  Lieutenant  to  know  him,  but  curiously, 
the  Secretary,  who  messes  with  the  officers,  asserts  that  of  all 
the  men  there  this  Lieutenant  has  always  appeared  as  the  most 
clean-spoken,  the  most  cultured,  the  most  gentlemanly.  And  the 
boys  have  always  considered  him  a  very  decent  sort.  The  whole 
thing  is  absolutely  and  blankly  incomprehensible  to  me.  There 
is  one  explanation  the  boys  offer;  which  is  that  the  Lieutenant, 
having  a  yellow  streak,  has  lost  his  nerve  at  the  prospect  of  going 
to  the  front,  and  has  done  this  as  a  desperate  expedient,  in  the 
hope  of  being  dishonorably  discharged.  The  only  other  possible 
explanation  which  I  can  come  upon  is  that  the  Lieutenant  has  a 
German  name. 

BouRMONT,  December  23. 
The  burning  question  that  is  on  every  Hp:    Will  the  Christmas 
turkeys  come? 


COMPANY  A  25 

We  had  been  promised  turkey.  What's  more  I  had  been  prom- 
ised some  of  that  turkey  too,  at  Company  A's  mess  table.  Now 
uncertainty  holds  us  in  torment.  Every  sort  of  a  rumor  is  rife. 
Some  darkly  insinuate  that  neighboring  organizations  have  side- 
tracked those  turkeys.  Others  declare  that  the  turkeys,  having 
been  smuggled  in  by  night,  are  now  actually  in  camp  among  us. 

"Huh!"  snorts  my  friend  the  Tall  Kentuckian.  "Funny  tur- 
keys they  have  in  this  army!  I  done  heard  those  turkeys  had 
four  legs  and  a  pair  of  horns!'' 

Of  course  Christmas  won't  be  Christmas  without  the  turkeys, 
but  anyway  we  have  done  our  best  to  bring  Christmas  into  the 
hut.  The  question  of  Christmas  trees  was  taken  up  in  the  Bour- 
mont  office  some  days  ago.  An  application  was  made  to  the  Mayor; 
the  Mayor  referred  the  matter  to  the  representative  of  the  Bureau 
of  Forestry.  The  Bureau  of  Forestry  proved  to  be  a  good  scout. 
He  ruminated  a  while,  "Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "this  matter  is 
so  tied  up  with  red  tape,  that  if  one  were  to  unwind  it  all,  it  would 
be  New  Year's  before  you  got  your  tree.  My  advice  is  that  you 
select  your  tree,  wait  until  after  dark,  then  go  out,  cut  it  down 
close  to  the  ground,  and  cover  the  place  carefully  with  snow." 

Tonight  when  the  subject  of  Christmas  trees  came  up  in  the 
canteen  I  repeated  this  anecdote  to  the  boys.  It  was  then  growing 
dusky.  Several  boys  immediately  disappeared.  In  an  hour  they 
were  back  again,  dragging  not  one^  but  two  beautiful  hemlocks. 
We  set  up  the  more  perfect  one,  and  cut  the  other  up  for  trim- 
mings. With  flags,  paper  festoons,  Japanese  lanterns,  tinsel  which 
the  French  call  "  angel's  hair,"  and  tree  ornaments  the  hut  was 
transformed  in  a  twinkling  as  if  by  magic.  Now  it  is  no  longer  a 
muddy-floored  tent,  but  a  green  bower  threaded  with  myriad  bits 
of  bright  color,  and  I  have  really  never  seen  anything  of  the  sort 
that  was  any  prettier. 

Yesterday  several  cases  of  free  tobacco  from  the  Sun  Tobacco 
Fund  arrived  in  camp.  The  boys  in  the  orderly  room  opened  the 
cases  last  night  and  hunted  through  and  through  them,  trying  to 
find  packages  which  bore  the  names  of  unmarried  lady  donors. 


26  BOURMONT 

Unfortunately  the  Misses  who  contributed  were  few  and  far  be- 
tween, but  hope  dies  hard. 

"Say,  mightn't  Asa  be  a  girl?"  the  lads  are  asking  me  eagerly 
today. 

**Lucien  ain't  a  man's  name,  is  it?" 

Enclosed  in  each  package  is  a  postal-card  on  which  one  may, 
if  so  inclined,  return  thanks  to  the  giver.  The  boys  who  are  tak- 
ing the  trouble  to  write  are  doing  it  frankly  with  the  hope  that 
this  may  encourage  the  recipient  to  repetition.  How  to  tactfully 
suggest  this  without  seeming  greedy  is  a  problem  whose  deUcacy 
proves  diflScult. 

"  You  tell  me  how  to  say  it,"  they  tease. 

*'Say,  won't  you  write  it  for  me,  please  ma'am?" 

I  saw  one  postal-card  accompUshed  after  an  evening  of  con- 
centrated effort;  "Your  precious  and  admired  gift,"  it  began. 

Already  Santa  Claus  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Gatts  has  presented 
me  with  a  beautiful  white  silk  apron  embroidered  with  large 
bunches  of  life-like  violets. 

BouRMONT,  Christmas  Day. 

Joyeux  Noel! 

As  I  came  in  last  night  there  was  a  great  log  burning  on  the 
hearth. 

^'C^est  la  bouche  de  Noel,"  said  Madame  and  explained  how  it 
would  bum  all  night,  then  Christmas  morning  she  would  take  the 
Httle  end  that  was  left  and  put  it  away  in  the  loft  until  the  next 
Christmas:  it  would  protect  the  house  from  lightning;  it  was  a 
very  ancient  custom. 

Back  in  the  Salle  des  Assiettes  I  found  our  table  spread  as  for 
a  little  fete  with  a  wonderful  cake  and  a  bottle  tied  up  with  a 
bouquet  of  chrysanthemums  and  long  ribbon  streamers  of  red  white 
and  blue.  I  was  so  innocent  that  I  supposed  at  first  that  the 
chrysanthemums  were  in  the  bottle,  an  improvised  vase,  but  Ma- 
dame quickly  enlightened  me:  ^^Cest  le  vin  blanc"  she  explained  to 
my  embarrassment. 


COMPANY  A  27 

The  Gendarme  and  I  took  counsel  together  as  to  how  we  could 
best  express  our  feelings  on  this  occasion  toward  the  Family 
Chaput,  the  household  having  been  increased  over  night  by  the  ar- 
rival of  the  married  daughter  and  her  small  boy  and  girl.  After  va- 
rious projects  had  been  considered  and  abandoned,  we  finally  took 
the  little  stand  from  our  room,  dressed  it  with  evergreen  and  tinsel, 
then  heaped  it  with  nuts,  candies,  chocolate  bars,  and  Httle  jars 
of  jam  all  from  the  canteen,  together  with  a  few  small  toys,  and 
carried  it  in  and  placed  it  in  front  of  the  hearth.  The  family  ap- 
peared delighted.  We  observed,  however,  that  after  the  first  toot, 
baby  Max's  whistle  was  swiftly  and  silently  confiscated.  Later 
when  La  Petite,  the  little  maid-of-all-work  who  takes  care  of  our 
rooms,  came  in,  we  had  a  few  trinkets  dug  from  the  depths  of  our 
trunks  to  bestow  on  her.  Later  still  I  carried  chocolates  and  coftr 
fiture  to  my  little  old  ladies  of  the  Rue  Dieu. 

This  Christmas  day  I  fancy  will  be  long  remembered  by  the 
inhabitants  of  this  part  of  France;  for  in  every  one  of  the  villages 
about,  our  soldiers  have  given  the  French  children  a  Christmas 
tree.  I  went  to  see  the  tree  at  Saint  Thiebault.  The  ancient 
church,  its  chill  interior  ablaze  with  Hght,  was  crowded  with  vil- 
lagers all  dressed  in  their  fete  day  best.  The  old  people  were  just 
as  excited  and  eager  as  the  children;  not  one  had  ever  seen  a  Christ- 
mas tree  before.  They  stood  on  the  pews  in  order  to  get  a  better 
view.  The  tree  which  was  very  large  and  beautiful  stood  just 
outside  the  altar  rail.  It  bore  a  gift  for  every  child  in  Saint  Thie- 
bault. While  the  tree  was  slowly  being  unburdened  of  its  load, 
the  band-master's  choir,  high  up  in  the  choir-loft  sang  an  accom- 
paniment. Some  of  the  selections  were  of  a  sacred  character, 
others  frankly  secular,  such  as  Drink  To  Me  Only  With  Thine 
Eyes;  but  as  one  of  the  choristers  remarked; 

"As  long  as  we  sing  them  slow  and  solemn  the  Frenchies  won't 
know  the  difference." 

After  the  Christmas  tree  I  went  around  to  the  little  local  hos- 
pital to  take  some  gifts  to  the  patients.  There  were  half  a  dozen 
of  them  lying  on  cots  in  the  bare  barracks  room,  a  dreary  set  in  a 


28  BOURMONT 

drearier  setting.  In  one  comer  lay  a  boy  who  muttered  incoher- 
ently. He  had  just  been  brought  in,  they  told  me,  and  was  very  ill: 
the  doctors  were  puzzled  to  know  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 
I  left  some  Uttle  gifts  for  him  when  he  should  be  better. 

It  was  half -past  four  when  I  reached  the  hut.  Suddenly  it  popped 
into  my  head  that  we  ought  to  have  a  Santa  Claus.  At  half-past 
six  Santa  walked  in  through  the  door.  It  was  Pat  in  a  big  red 
nose,  a  red  peaked  cap,  much  white  cotton-batting  beard  and  whis- 
kers, rubber  boots,  the  Chief's  fur  coat,  covered  over  for  the  night 
with  turkey-red  bunting,  and  a  fat  pack  slung  over  one  shoulder. 
I  had  just  dressed  him  in  the  mess  hall,  and  for  an  impromptu 
Santa  Claus,  I  flatter  myself  he  was  quite  effective.  The  boys 
whooped.  When  they  discovered  who  it  was  behind  that  nose, 
they  yelped  like  terriers. 

"Ain't  he  the  beauty!  Oh  you  whiskers!  Say  Pat,  kiss  me 
quick!'* 

We  got  Santa  safely  behind  the  counter  and  then  opened  the 
pack.  It  was  full  of  foolish  little  things;  tricks,  puzzles,  games, 
mottoes,  whistles,  tin  trumpets,  paper  "hummers".  The  boys  went 
wild.  It  was  the  musical  instruments  that  made  the  hit.  For  two 
hours  that  hut  shrieked  pandemonium.  Every  last  man  in  the 
company  tootled  and  squawked  as  if  his  life  depended  on  it,  and 
every  last  one  of  them  was  tootling  a  different  tune. 

"Cest  des  grands  gosses!'*  Truly,  as  Madame  Chaput  says, 
they're  nothing  after  all  but  so  many  big  little  boys. 

After  the  stuff  was  distributed  the  Secretary  and  I  invited  the 
boys  to  partake  of  hot  chocolate  and  sandwiches.  But  to  our 
disappointment  they  only  took  a  languid  interest  in  the  treat. 
Instead  of  the  five  and  six  cups  apiece  which  many  often  swallow, 
not  one  of  them  consumed  more  than  a  cup  and  three-quarters. 
Too  late  we  realized;  they  had  already  gorged  themselves  on  the 
contents  of  their  Christmas  boxes  from  home. 

Reports  coming  in  from  the  village  stated  that  one  American 
Christmas  custom  had  made  a  strong  appeal  to  the  feminine  por- 
tion at  least  of  the  population.    Quantities  of  mistletoe  grow  here- 


COMPANY  A  29 

abouts.  The  French,  although  averring  that  it  brings  good-luck, 
consider  it  a  pest  and  let  it  go  at  that.  It  took  the  American  dough- 
boys to  enUghten  the  Mademoiselles  as  to  its  Anglo-Saxon  signif- 
icance. It  would  be  curious,  I  have  been  thinking,  if  the  adoption 
of  this  ancient  privilege  should  prove  one  of  the  lasting  evidences 
of  the  American  troops  in  France! 

As  I  left  the  canteen  I  learned  that  the  boy  who  had  been  so 
sick  at  the  hospital  was  dead. 

BouRMONT,  December  26. 

Last  night  was  a  wild  night  in  the  barracks.  Thismorning  the 
hut  was  full  of  echoes  of  it.  Company  A  indeed  wore  a  jaded 
look.  They  had  had  very  little  sleep  it  was  explained.  And  it 
was  all  on  account  of  the  Christmas  himimers. 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  against  you  people,  but  I  shore  don't  think 
you  gave  A  Company  a  square  deal,"  remarked  my  friend  the 
Tall  Kentuckian  as  he  lit  his  cigarette  at  the  counter. 

"Why,  didn't  you  like  the  present  that  Santa  Claus  brought 
you?  "  I  teased. 

"Huh!  I  would  shore  have  singed  the  ol'  gentleman's  whiskers 
for  him  last  night  if  I  could  have  caught  him!"  He  went  on  to 
explain;  "We'd  just  get  settled  down  good  to  sleep  when  some  guy 
or  other  would  start  up  a-squawkin'  on  one  of  them  things.  An' 
Sergeant  — ,  well  he'd  had  just  enough  to  make  him  fightin'  mad, 
an'  he  shore  would  rare  around  that  there  barracks  tryin'  to  find 
them  fellers.  Why,  half  the  corporals  in  the  outfit  was  marchin'  up 
and  down  the  place  most  all  the  night  long,  sh)dn'  hob-nailed  shoes 
in  what  they  guessed  was  the  direction  of  them  noises." 

I  began  to  discern  what  a  night  of  terror  it  had  been. 

"Yes  suh!"  declared  the  Kentuckian.  "There  was  one  feller 
with  a  hummer  we  couldn't  get.  He  kept  blowin'  Tipperary.  He 
must  have  blowed  it  for  two  hours  steady,  on  an'  off.  I  guess  he 
had  every  last  hob-nailed  shoe  in  the  hull  barracks  throwed  at 
him." 

Nor  is  this  all.    It  seems  I  have  committed  a  ghastly  faux  pas. 


30  BOURMONT 

I  have  gotten  the  Y.  in  dreadfully  dutch  with  the  officers.  It 
is  all  along  of  the  Christmas  calendars.  The  Christmas  calendars 
arrived  at  the  canteen  just  the  day  before  Christmas.  They  were 
designed  to  be  sold  to  the  boys  for  five  cents  a-piece  in  order  that 
they  might  have  something  to  send  to  the  folks  at  home  as  a  Christ- 
mas greeting.  But  since  they  reached  us  so  very  late  the  Secretary 
and  I  decided  we  didn't  have  the  face  to  put  them  on  sale. 

"Let's  give  them  away,"  I  suggested,  and  on  his  agreeing,  laid 
them  in  heaps  on  the  counter  and  invited  the  boys  to  help  them- 
selves. The  boys  weren't  bashful.  They  helped  themselves  with 
enthusiasm  and  zeal.  They  came  back  for  more  and  more.  For 
the  rest  of  the  day  no  one  did  a  thing  at  the  hut  but  sit  at  the  tables 
and  address  envelopes.  One  boy,  I  learned  later,  sent  off  as  many 
as  thirty-five.  I  was  awfully  pleased  to  have  the  boys  appreciate 
the  calendars  so.  And  I  never  once  for  a  moment  thought  of  the 
censors;  but  presently  I  heard  from  them.  The  company  censors, 
two  of  the  younger  lieutenants,  had  been  looking  forward,  it  seems, 
to  some  leisurely  care-free  hours  at  Christmas.  When  the  stacks 
of  calendars  started  coming  in  they  saw  their  holiday  vanish 
into  thin  air,  nay  more,  they  saw  themselves  sitting  up  nights  for 
weeks  to  come  censoring  those  precious  calendars.  And  they 
were  swearing,  raving  mad.  They  were  going  to  run  the  Y.  out 
of  the  town!  They  were  going  to  shut  down  the  hut!  Finally 
they  compromised  the  matter  with  their  consciences  by  censoring 
half  and  chucking  the  other  half  into  the  stove.  But  even  then 
they  couldn't  stop  fussing  and  fuming  over  it.  Tonight  just  to 
top  the  matter  off,  we  received  a  sharp  reprimand  from  the  Busi- 
ness Manager  at  Bourmont  for  being  so  extravagant  as  to  give 
the  calendars  away,  unauthorized.  Was  there  ever  such  a  tragedy 
of  good  intentions? 

Bourmont,  December  27. 
Today  we  buried  the  lad  who  died  on  Christmas  night.    I  had 
never  seen  a  military  funeral  before  and  I  had  never  dreamed 
that  such  a  ceremony  could  be  so  thrillingly  beautiful. 


COMPANY  A  31 

The  company  formed  at  three  o'clock  in  the  road  in  front  of 
the  canteen,  then  filed  slowly  through  the  streets  of  the  Httle 
grey  age-old  village.  The  band  marching  at  the  head  of  the  pro- 
cession played  the  Marche  Fundbre  of  Chopin.  After  the  band 
came  the  officers  of  the  company  and  then  the  firing  squad  of 
eight  sharp-shooters,  followed  by  an  ambulance  carrying  the  boy's 
coffin  covered  with  a  great  flag.  Behind,  marched  the  whole  of 
\  Company  A  and  after  them  crowded  a  throng  of  villagers.  All 
the  men  in  town,  with  the  innate  respect  that  the  French  have  for 
death,  stood  uncovered  as  we  passed,  while  many  of  the  women 
watched  with  tears  streaming  down  their  faces. 

We  passed  through  the  village  and  down  the  road  to  the  little 
grey-walled  cemetery,  ringed  around  with  evergreens  and  now  deep 
in  freshly  fallen  snow.  All  about  stretched  virgin  shining  snow- 
fields  and  over  them  to  the  east  rose  Bourmont  Uke  a  dream  city, 
etched  as  deUcately  as  by  a  silver-point  against  the  soft  dove- 
colored  sky. 

The  majestic  phrases  of  the  CathoUc  burial  service  rang  out 
clearly  on  the  frosty  air: 

Eternal  rest  grant  him,  O  Lord, 

And  let  perpetual  light  shine  upon  him! 

The  coffin  with  the  great  flag  burning  in  blue  and  scarlet  was 
lowered  into  the  grave.  Slowly,  with  perfect  expression,  a  bugler 
blew  the  poignant,  unforgettable  notes  of  Taps.  The  rifles  of  the 
firing  squad  cracked  sharply;  three  volleys,  it  was  over. 

"Wni  they  leave  him  there?"  An  old  Frenchwoman  asked  one 
of  the  boys  afterwards. 

"  'Till  the  war  is  over,  then  likely  they  will  send  him  home." 

*'But  why?    He  won't  be  lonely  here.    There  will  always  be 
some  one  to  put  flowers  on  his  grave." 
^      Tonight  I  was  talking  to  the  Supply  Sergeant  about  the  lad. 

"I  think  he  died  of  a  broken  heart  as  much  as  anything,"  he 
told  me.  "They  wouldn't  let  his  mother  see  him  at  the  dock  when 
we  sailed.  She  came  to  say  good-bye  but  it  was  against  the  rules. 
He  never  could  get  over  that;  he  kept  brooding  all  the  time  and 


32  BOURMONT 

fretting  for  her.  I  read  some  of  her  letters  to  him.  They  seemed 
more  Uke  a  sweetheart's  than  a  mother's." 

The  doctors,  however,  diagnosed  his  disease  as  spinal  menin- 
gitis. They  have  ordered  the  barracks  in  which  he  slept  to  be 
quarantined.  Already  a  half  a  dozen  boys  in  quarantine  have 
taken  to  their  beds,  but  this  we  hope  is  largely  due  to  over-stimu- 
lated imaginations.  Even  if  the  disease  doesn't  spread,  however,  I 
am  wondering  what  will  become  of  ninety-seven  Kvely  boys  bottled 
up  for  two  weeks  in  one  barracks.  Already  various  ones  have 
eluded  the  guard  and  come  sneaking  furtively  into  the  canteen  to 
buy  their  cigarettes  and  chocolates.  Whenever  one  of  these  un- 
fortunates is  recognized  a  regular  howl  goes  up  all  over  the  hut. 

"Outside!  You're  one  of  the  crumby  ones!"  they  jeer,  or; 
*'  Convict !    Get  back  to  your  cell ! " 


BouRMONT,  December  28. 
The  worst  of  my  job  is  playing  dragon  to  the  French  children. 
In  view  of  the  fact  .that  if  allowed  in  the  hut  at  all  they  swarm  in, 
in  such  numbers  as  to  fairly  overrun  it,  and  pester  the  boys  with 
their  insatiable  appeals  for  "goom"  and  chocolate,  it  has  seemed 
best  to  make  a  strict  rule  against  their  admission.  (Besides  which 
I  don't  approve  of  giving  them  gum,  for  in  the  face  of  anything 
one  can  do  or  say  they  will  insist  on  swallowing  it,  which  is, 
I'm  sure,  not  at  all  good  for  their  tummies!)  But  in  spite  of  this 
prohibition  the  place  holds  an  irresistible  attraction  for  them.  At 
night  one  can  often  see  their  faces  pressed  flat  against  the  isin- 
glass windows  as  they  peer  inside;  while  chiefly  on  Saturday  and 
Sunday  afternoons  they  will  slip  slyly  in,  and  then  if  the  dragon 
isn't  on  the  jump  to  explain  to  each  and  every  one  in  her  very  best 
French,  that  she  is  so  sorry  but  it  really  is  forbidden,  why  in  a 
twinkling  the  hut  becomes  full  of  them.  And  they  are  so  pictur- 
esque, so  appealing,  so  full  of  shy  wonder  at  the  gramaphone  with 
the  wheel  that  "marches  by  itself"  that  it  is  very  hard  to  turn 
them  out. 


COMPANY  A  S3 

Since  Christmas  I  have  been  kept  busy  by  a  tiny  tad  of  a  raga- 
mujQ&n  with  a  funny  round  cropped  black  head  and  a  face  as  sol- 
emnly expressionless  as  a  little  carved  Buddha.  He  slips  in  among 
the  tables  and  he  is  positively  too  small  to  be  seen.  The  Christmas 
tree  with  its  shining  ornaments  is  his  stealthy  objective.  In  vain 
I  explain  matters  politely  to  him;  without  a  sound,  without  the 
hint  of  a  flicker  in  his  little  beady  black  eyes,  he  turns  and  clumps 
out  in  his  ridiculous  sabots,  only  to  presently  slip  in  again.  And 
now  it  seems  he  has  lain  low  and  sagaciously  observed  my  habits; 
for  returning  to  the  hut  after  mess  this  noon,  I  met  him  trudging 
along  the  Rue  Dieu,  his  eyes  encountering  mine  blandly  without 
embarrassment,  his  absurd  httle  figure  bulging  all  over  with  pur- 
loined Christmas  tree  ornaments.  In  the  hut  I  found  our  poor 
tree  stripped  to  a  height  of  four  feet  from  the  floor  of  all  its  finery. 

These  last  few  evenings  the  hut  has  been  given  over  to  writing 
Christmas  thank-you  letters  home.  The  official  writer  of  love 
letters  for  the  company  has  been  working  overtime;  not  that  his 
cHents  cannot  write  themselves,  but  because  they  feel  he  is  more 
able  to  do  justice  to  the  subject.  Every  night  now  I  see  him  sitting 
out  in  front  of  the  counter,  his  Jewish  profile  bent  low  over  the  table 
as  he  covers  sheet  after  sheet  with  his  fine  and  fanciful  hand-writ- 
ing, while  next  him  perches  anxiously  the  interested  party,  watch- 
ing developments  and  occasionally  proffering  a  suggestion.  When 
it  is  done  they  must  bring  it  to  me  for  my  approval. 

"That's  a  real  classy  letter,  ain't  it?  "  the  lover  will  query  proudly 
and  I  assure  him  that  it  is  indeed. 

"When  she  gets  that,  I  bet  she'll  come  across  with  that  sweater 
she  told  me  she  was  makin'  for  me,  all  right!" 

"Say  do  you  think  that  ought  to  be  good  for  a  cartoon  of  cigar- 
ettes?" another  one  inquires. 

Of  course  there  are  many  who,  no  matter  what  the  effort, 
prefer  to  write  their  own.  Sometimes  when  cleaning  up  the 
canteen  tables  I  come  upon  specimens  of  such,  first  drafts  dis- 
carded on  account  of  blots.  One  such  love  letter,  classic  in  its 
brevity,  picked  up  the  other  day,  ran: 


34  BOURMONT 

Dear  Sweetheart, 

I  am  writing  you  a  few  interesting 
lines  which  I  hope  will  be  the  same  to  you  wishing  you 
a  merry  Xmas  and  a  happy  New  Year 

•  Your  loving  friend 

Pvt. 

Of  late  I  have  been  moved  to  speculate  wonderingly  on  the  men- 
tal processes  of  the  American  public.  I  have  been  going  through 
the  stacks  of  magazines  in  the  warehouse  sent  from  the  States  for 
one  cent  per  to  provide  amusement  for  the  doughboys*  leisure 
moments.  Among  the  rest  I  found  the  Upholsterer's  Monthly, 
The  Hardware  Dealer's  Journal,  The  Mother's  Magazine,  Fancy 
Work  and  The  Modem  Needleworker.  I  showed  some  of  these 
prizes  to  one  of  the  boys;  "Gee,  but  that's  the  kind  of  snappy  stuff 
to  send  a  feller  over  the  top!"  was  his  comment.  That  numbers 
of  the  Undertaker's  Journal  have  also  been  discovered  among  the 
donations  from  home  I  have  heard  asserted  on  excellent  authority, 
but  as  yet  I  have  not  personally  come  across  any. 

Just  as  we  were  closing  tonight,  Pat  came  up  to  the  counter, 
solemnly  leaned  across  it: 

"Have  you  seen  the  new  shoes  they're  issuin'?  he  demanded. 
"They've  got  pitchers  on  them  so  a  feller  can't  see  his  own  feet!" 

BouRMONT,  January  2,  1918. 

Once  a  week  our  peripatetic  movie-machine  makes  its  appear- 
ance among  us.  Louis,  the  sixteen  year  old  French  operator,  un- 
packs the  big  cases,  sets  up  the  apparatus,  and,  if  our  luck  holds, 
we  have  a  show.  Owing  to  the  short  range  of  the  little  machine 
the  screen  must  be  hung  in  the  middle  of  the  hut.  This  means 
that  half  the  audience  must  view  the  pictures  from  the  back,  the 
essential  difference  being  that  the  lettering  is  then  reversed ;  "  The 
Jewish  Picture  Show,"  the  boys  call  this.  But  then  as  half  of  us 
can't  read  anyway,  why  should  we  mind? 

The  joy  of  the  show  lies  in  the  audience.  Just  as  soon  as  the 
lights  are  put  out  the  fun  begins:    "Everbody  watch  their  pocket- 


COMPANY  A  35 

books!"  goes  up  the  shout  and  from  that  moment  we  are  never 
still. 

The  curly-headed  herome  makes  her  coquettish  entrance. 

"Ooo  la  la!    Oooo  la  la!"  rises  the  enthusiastic  welcome. 

A  bottle  is  displayed;  "Cognac!"  the  yell  shakes  the  roof. 

The  neglected  wife  begins  to  waver  in  response  to  the  tempter^s 
wiles;  "Now  don't  forget  your  general  orders,  Uttle  lady!"  ad- 
monishes an  earnest  voice. 

Lovers  indulge  in  a  prolonged  embrace;  "Aw  quit!  Quit  it! 
Yer  make  me  home-sick!"  goes  up  the  agonized  appeal. 

The  enraptured  lover  stands  registering  ecstacy;  "Hit  him 
again,  he's  coming  to!"  comes  the  derisive  shout. 

And  so  it  goes.  The  actors  aren't  on  the  screen,  they're  in  the 
house,  and  truly  there  isn't  a  dull  moment  on  the  programme! 

Last  night,  however,  instead  of  the  joyous  chorus  of  running 
comment  a  subdued  and  decorous  silence  reigned,  broken  only  by 
a  few  half-hearted  sallies.  What  was  the  matter?  I  racked  my 
brain  to  find  the  cause.  All  the  joy  had  gone  from  the  show.  The 
evening  was  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable.  When  the  lights  were  lit 
again  the  mystery  was  immediately  made  plain.  At  one  end  of  the 
counter  stood  an  officer.  I  wonder  if  he  dreamed  what  a  spoil- 
sport he  had  been? 

Once  a  week  also  a  lady  comes  from  the  Bourmont  office  to  give 
us  a  French  lesson;  not  that  Company  A  betrays  any  burning 
desire  to  learn  to  parlez-vous,  but  just  that  it  seems  obviously  the 
proper  thing  to  do  under  the  circumstances,  so  French  they  must 
be  taught  willy-nilly.  There  were  two  lessons  to  be  sure  in  which 
they  took  a  degree  of  interest;  the  lesson  about  buying  and  count- 
ing money,  and  the  lesson  about  food  and  drink.  But  when  they 
had  once  learned  to  ask  the  price  of  things  and  to  understand 
the  answer,  and  had  learned  the  words  for  eggs,  bread,  butter,  beer, 
ham,  beefsteak,  chicken  and  French  fried  potatoes,  their  interest 
lapsed  until  it  became  positive  boredom.  Of  late  it  has  seemed  to 
me  that  it  was  only  the  boys  with  French  blood  that  learned  any- 
thing and  they,  of  course,  knew  it  all  already. 


36  BOURMONT 

For  entertainment  Company  A  can  upon  occasion  furnish  its  own 
show.  This  was  demonstrated  by  an  impromptu  programme  staged 
in  the  hut  the  other  night;  there's  no  use  we  have  discovered  in 
planning  things  beforehand,  if  one  does,  as  sure  as  fate,  all  the 
star  performers  "catch  guard"  that  day!  Pat  by  request  acted  as 
stage-manager  and  master  of  ceremonies.  To  stimulate  the  artists 
we  announced  prizes. 

Private  Dostal  opened  the  programme;  a  large  red-faced  lad 
with  a  bland  and  simple  cast  of  countenance,  he  is  the  comic  bal- 
ladist  of  the  company.  His  first  contribution  was  a  selection 
popularly  known  among  us  as  Beside  the  dyin^  boxcar j  the  empty 
hobo  lay,  a  piece  with  a  vast  number  of  verses  in  which  the  dying 
hobo  repents  an  ill-spent  life,  only,  in  the  last  Hne,  to  "jump 
up  and  hop  the  train."  For  an  encore  we  had  Papa  Eating  Noodle 
Soup  which  could  best  be  described  as  a  '"gleesome,  gluesome" 
recitative,  the  chorus  of  each  of  numerous  verses  consisting  of  a 
realistic  imitation  of  Papa  partaking  of  the  Soup.  Mr.  Gatts  gave 
us  a  jig.  Then  Bruno  who,  as  the  boys  say;  "Could  sing  pretty 
good,  only  he  don't  sing  nothin'  but  wop,"  favored  us  with  Oh 
Maria,  prefacing  his  performance  with  the  earnest  admonition, 
"No  laffin!  nobody!"  and  after  that  with  an  Italian  folk  dance 
in  which  he  looked  more  like  a  grotesque  little  punchinello  than 
ever.  Our  light-weight  boxing  champion  then  gave  us  Lovers  Old 
Sweet  Song  and  the  heavy-weight  champion  popularly  known  as 
Magulligan,  together  with  Mr.  Bruno  rendered  Bye  low  my  Baby, 
antiphonal  fashion.  The  last  number  was  furnished  by  a  poilu 
who  had  wandered  in,  in  company  with  one  of  the  boys.  He  sang 
a  long  dramatic  ballad,  entitled  The  Last  Cuirassier,  depicting 
some  incident  in  the  Franco-Prussian  War.  Just  what  the  boys 
made  of  it  I  don't  know,  but  to  me  it  was  intensely  thrilling,  not 
on  account  of  the  words  for  I  couldn't  catch  them,  but  on  account 
of  the  fervor,  the  imaginative  sympathy,  the  martial  spirit  which 
that  old  fellow  in  his  faded  trench  coat  threw  into  his  tones. 

When  the  show  was  over  Pat  stood  up  on  the  counter  and  an- 
nounced that  as  long  as  all  the  performances  had  been  of  such 


COMPANY  A  37 

superlative  merit,  it  was  impossible  for  the  judges  to  decide  be- 
tween them.  So  we  handed  out  a  couple  of  packages  of  "  smoking" 
to  each  one  of  the  artists,  and  everybody  was  satisfied. 

Once  too  we  had  a  party,  an  athletic  stunt  party.  There  were 
potato-races  and  sack-races,  string-eating  contests,  three-legged  and 
obstacle-races;  but  the  sensational,  the  crowning  event  was,  of 
course,  the  pie-race.  The  pies  which  were  of  French  manufacture 
had  only  been  arranged  after  difficulties:  consulting  the  houlangbre 
at  Bourmont  I  had  discovered  that  the  calendar  now  only  allows 
two  pie-days  per  week,  Sunday  and  Wednesday;  since  the  party 
was  to  be  Friday,  pie  was  unlawful,  unless — ^and  here  the  law,  like 
all  good  laws  allowed  a  loop-hole — unless  the  pie  be  made  with 
commissary  flour!  The  pie-race  was  the  "dark  horse"  on  the 
programme.  Fearing  that  if  the  boys  learned  beforehand  of  the 
prospective  pie  not  only  would  we  be  mobbed  by  would-be  con- 
testants but  also  that  their  interest  in  the  rest  of  the  programme 
would  suffer,  we  had  kept  the  pie-race  a  profound  secret.  Smuggled 
in  when  the  hut  was  empty  those  pies  had  reposed  serenely  under 
the  counter  all  afternoon  and  contrary  to  my  fears  not  a  boy  had 
sniffed  them!  When  the  proper  moment  came  the  pies  were  placed 
on  a  board  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  the  contestants,  of  whom  Pat 
was  one,  knelt  with  their  hands  tied  behind  them.  At  the  word  go! 
they  fell  to.  The  hut  howled.  Then  it  was  discovered  that  Cor- 
poral G.  laboured  under  a  cruel  handicap;  his  pie  was  a  cherry  pie 
and  every  cherry  had  a  stone  in  it.  Half-way  through  his  pie,  Pat, 
jerking  one  hand  loose,  seized  a  large  piece,  plastered  it  on  the  head 
of  his  opponent  opposite ;  the  race  ended  in  a  riot.  Strangely  enough, 
when  peace  was  restored  not  a  trace  of  pie  could  be  found  any- 
where,— nowhere,  that  is,  except  in  the  back  hair  of  the  contestants. 

Bourmont,  January  6. 

Now  I  know  how  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale  felt  when  he  was 

bidden  to  cUmb  the  mountain  of  glass.    For  Bourmont  Hill  is 

sheeted  with  ice,  and  it  is  fairly  as  much  as  one's  life  is  worth  to 

attempt  to  go  up  or  down.    Every  morning  I  stand  and  look  at 


38  BOURMONT 

that  dizzying  slide  aghast,  and  wonder  if  I  may  possibly  reach 
the  foot  alive;  then  assistance  comes,  sometimes  in  the  shape  of  a 
French  lad  in  sabots,  sometimes  as  a  stalwart  doughboy  with  a 
sharp-pointed  staff,  and  together  the  two  of  us  go  slipping,  sUther- 
ing  down  the  hill-side.  In  the  middle  of  the  road  yeUing  doughboys, 
seated  on  cakes  of  ice,  whiz  by  at  a  mad  rate  of  speed;  long  before 
they  reach  the  bottom  of  the  slope,  the  ice-cake  splinters  into  bits, 
but  the  doughboy  shoots  on  downward,  sprawUng,  spinning  like 
a  top,  while  you  hold  your  breath  and  gape  to  see  that  his  neck 
isn't  broken.  For  the  French  people  all  this  supplies  the  sensation 
of  a  life- time;  they  crowd  their  front  doors  and  their  front  yards 
laughing,  shrieking  warning  or  encouragement,  as  they  watch  the 
progress  of  the  mad  Americans  up  and  down  the  hill. 

"K  one  could  only  have  a  movie  of  Bourmont  Hill  on  a  day  like 
this!  "  sighs  the  Gendarme. 

The  other  day  I  encountered  a  sergeant  of  engineers  on  the  hill- 
side. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  sled.  Little  Girl,"  he  told  me. 

"Well  why  don't  the  engineers  make  me  one?"  I  unthinkingly 
retorted. 

"Sure  and  they  will!"  he  answered. 

Since  then  I  have  gone  in  terror.  If  the  sergeant  should  have 
that  sled  made  for  me,  as  he  likely  will,  why  I  shall  have  to  use  it. 
And  as  for  starting  down  Bourmont  Hill  on  a  sled,  I  would  just 
as  soon  attempt  Niagara  in  a  barrel. 

Ever  since  Christmas  it  has  been  cold,  bitter  cold.  At  the  can- 
teen I  wash  my  chocolate  cups  with  the  dishpan  on  the  stove  in 
order  to  keep  the  water  fluid;  hanging  the  dish-cloth  up  to  dry 
at  the  corner  of  the  counter,  in  a  few  minutes  I  find  it  stiff  with  ice. 
At  night  the  ink-bottles  freeze  and  then  burst,  spreading  black 
ruin  all  around  them.  What  to  do  with  the  still  unfrozen  ones  is  a 
vexing  problem;  I  might  I  suppose  take  them  home  each  night  with 
me  and  sleep  with  them  underneath  my  pillow.  In  the  Uttle  um- 
brella-stand stoves  the  green  wood,  which  comes  in  so  freshly  cut, 
that  the  logs  have  ivy  still  unwithered  twined  around  them,  simply 


COMPANY  A  39 

will  not  bum,  and  the  stoves  will  smoke,  mon  Dieu,  how  they  will 
smoke !  Every  time  the  wind  blows,  the  stove-pipes,  secured  shakily 
by  the  canvas  walls,  become  disjointed,  parting  company  with  the 
stoves,  and  then  the  clouds  pour  forth  as  if  we  housed  a  captive  Etna. 

In  the  barracks  the  boys  tell  me  their  shoes  freeze  to  the  floor 
over  night.  They  have  taken  to  sleeping  two  in  one  bunk  for  the 
sake  of  warmth.  Blanket-stealing  has  been  elevated  to  the  rank  of 
a  deadly  crime.  Even  the  problem  of  keeping  warm  by  day  is  an 
acute  one.  The  boys  who  have  money  to  burn  are  spending  it  to 
purchase  extravagantly  priced  fur-lined  gloves.  The  boys  who 
can't  afford  them,  wait  until  they  see  somebody  lay  a  pair  down. 

The  taking  of  baths  has  become  an  act  of  heroism. 

"Took  a  bath  today,"  growls  a  lad.  "Think  I  ought  to  get  a 
service  stripe  for  that." 

While  another  boy  grins;  "  Gee  but  I'm  feelin'  rich!  Took  a  bath 
today  and  found  two  pair  o'socks  and  three  shirts  I  didn't  know 
I  had!" 

"Now  ain't  you  sorry  you  cut  off  the  bottom  of  your  coat!" 
a  long-coated  doughboy  taunts  an  abbreviated  one.  "I  told  you 
not  to.  First,  you're  out  of  luck  at  Reveille  'cause  the  Top  Kick 
can  see  you  ain't  got  no  leggin's  on.  An'  now  before  you  know  it, 
you'll  be  havin'  chilblains  in  your  knees." 

"You  should  worry,"  growls  back  the  short-coated  one.  "I 
couldn't  stand  that  thing  flappin'  'round  my  feet  no  longer.  An' 
most  of  the  other  guys  done  it  too." 

Which  is  true.  Before  this  cold  spell  set  in,  half  the  boys  in 
the  company  had  taken  a  sHce  off  the  bottom  of  their  overcoats, 
a  procedure  which  leads  to  an  odd  effect  en  masse  as  each  has 
chosen  his  own  length  which  means  everything  from  knees  to 
ankles,  and  drives  the  exasparated  Loots  to  demanding;  "D'you 
want  to  know  what  you  look  like?    Well,  you  look  like  hell  I " 

In  the  village  streets  snow-ball  fights  are  in  order.  As  soon  as 
the  boys  start  an  offensive,  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  Fatibourg  de 
France  run  out  and  put  up  their  shutters.  Better  to  sit  in  the  dark 
while  the  battle  rages  than  to  risk  a  pane  of  precious  window- 


40  BOURMONT 

glass!  Yesterday  out  at  Iloud  the  boys  caught  the  Y  Secretary, 
a  meek  and  mild  little  man,  in  the  road  and  started  to  give  him 
a  thorough  pelting.  He  ran  for  the  hut,  they  chased  him,  he  gained 
his  refuge,  locked  the  door  after  him;  they  proceeded  to  heap  about 
half  a  ton  of  snow  against  it,  making  it  immovable.  The  unhappy 
man  had  to  remove  a  window  frame  and  crawl  out  through  the  open- 
ing, then  spend  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  digging  out  his  hut  door. 

Here  at  our  billet  our  little  pea-green  porcelain  stove  with  the 
lavendar  thistles  growing  over  it  has  proved  to  be  more  ornamental 
then  useful.  Since  the  Gendarme  is  one  of  your  naturally  efficient 
souls,  I  feel  that  such  practical  details  as  building  fires  belong  to 
her.  If  she  wishes  to  coax  and  cozen  the  wretched  thing  for  an  hour 
on  end,  well  and  good.  As  for  me  I  prefer  to  go  and  hug  the  cook 
stove  in  Madame's  parlor.  French  fires  don't  burn  the  way  Ameri- 
can fires  do,  I  tell  Madame.  But  to  her  the  matter  is  quite  simple. 
The  stove,  she  says,  doesn't  understand  EngUsh. 

Today  I  met  the  sergeant  of  engineers.  Some  imp  impelled 
me  to  question  jovially; 

*' Where's  that  sled  you  promised  me?" 

**It's  almost  done."    My  knees  went  weak  beneath  me. 

Tonight  I  confided  my  apprehensions  to  the  Gendarme.  She 
looked  at  me  with  an  unpitying  eye. 

"The  more  goose  you,  for  encouraging  him,"  was  her  cold  com- 
fort.   "What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I'm  gomg  to  pray  for  a  thaw,"  I  told  her. 

BouRMONT,  January  8. 

Life  at  the  Maison  Chaput  doesn't  flow  quite  so  peacefully  these 
days  as  it  did  before  Christmas.  The  disturbing  factor  is  four- 
year  old  Max,  left  by  his  mother  to  visit  his  grandparents.  Max 
is  a  spoiled  child  according  to  the  Chaput  point  of  view.  He  is  ex- 
pected to  walk  a  chalk  line  with  his  little  red  felt  toes,  and  failing 
this,  he  is  spanked  early  and  often.  It  is  unlucky  for  him  that  the 
fagots  by  the  hearth  afford  a  continual  supply  of  handy  switches. 

"The  little  Jesus  will  never  bring  you  anything  again  at  Christ- 


COMPANY  A  41 

mas,"  warns  Grandmamma;  "never  again!  And  neither  will  the 
Pbre  Nicolas! ^^  Then  she  appeals  to  me;  "All  the  little  children 
in  America  are  always  well-behaved,  are  they  not?"  "But  yes, 
certainly!"  I  reply,  avoiding  Max's  eye. 

Coming  home  in  the  evening  I  often  stop  on  my  way  back  to 
the  chilly  Salle  des  Assiettes,  in  response  to  an  urgent  invitation, 
to  warm  myself  at  the  fire-place.  Old  Monsieur  will  be  sitting  on 
one  side  of  the  hearth  and  I  on  the  other,  while  Baby  Max  toasts 
his  toes  in  their  scarlet  slippers  on  a  stool  between  us.  Sometimes 
they  will  sing  for  me.  Monsieur  had  a  fine  voice  when  he  was 
young  and  even  now  he  sings  with  a  delightful  air,  a  sort  of  inde- 
scribable old  gallantry  that  is  a  joy  to  me.  When  he  and  Max  sing 
together  the  effect  is  irresistible. 

"Now  we  will  sing  Le  Drapeau  de  la  France"  cries  Monsieur. 
"We  must  stand  for  this!"  And  Monsieur  in  his  gay  red  neck 
cloth  and  little  Max  in  his  blue  checked  pinafore  stand  up  before 
the  fire  and  sing  with  their  hearts  in  the  words.  "Saluons  le  drapeau 
de  la  France."  When  they  come  to  that  fine.  Monsieur  le  Comman- 
dant veteran  of  1870  and  baby  Max  salute  together. 

Then,  "  Vive  la  France!"  I  cry,  and  "  Vive  la  France!"  they  echo. 

When  new  troops  pass  through  town  Max  must  always  run  to 
the  door  to  cry  ''Bonjour  les  Americains  !"  a  salutation  which  is 
often  followed  I  fear  by  a  request  for  cigarettes,  for  Max,  baby 
that  he  is,  enjoys  a  smoke,  much  to  his  grandparents'  amusement. 

Among  the  chinaware  at  the  Maison  Chaput  there  is  a  funny 
little  jug  which  the  Gendarme  and  I  use  for  fetching  hot  water. 
It  is  made  in  the  shape  of  a  fat  frog  with  a  blue  waistcoat  and  a 
pipe  in  one  of  his  webbed  feet.  I  had  thought  it  was  the  famous 
frog  who  would  a-wooing  go,  but  Monsieur  has  his  own  explanation. 
It  is  the  original  St.  Thiebault  toad  he  declares,  to  tease  me.  Every 
time  I  come  to  draw  a  little  hot  water  from  the  stove  he  must 
crack  the  self-same  joke. 

"Cest  le  crapaud  de  Saint  Thiebault"  he  cries  and  baby  Max 
pipes  up;  "7/  a  soif!" 

Yesterday  as  I  was  passing  through  the  front  room  on  my  way 


42  BOURMONT 

to  the  canteen  Monsieur  stopped  me  to  draw  me  into  conversation. 
There  were  several  neighbors  present.  They  gathered  in  a  ring 
around  me.  I  could  see  they  had  some  weighty  question  to  put 
to  me.    After  a  moment's  hesitation  it  came  out: 

*^  Fourqjwi"  they  demanded,  ^'pourquoi^  does  the  American  sol- 
dier blow  his  nose  with  his  fingers?  " 

I  stared,  taken  aback.  In  order  to  make  their  meaning  quite 
clear  they  illustrated  with  expressive  gestures. 

*'Wliy,"  I  stammered,  "does  the  poilu  never  do  such  a  thing?" 

*'But  never!"  they  declared  in  chorus.  "The  poilu  always  uses 
his  handkerchief!"    And  again  they  illustrated  in  pantomime. 

I  labored  to  explain;  the  French  clhnate  had  given  the  boys 
colds,  and  the  question  of  laundry  and  clean  handkerchiefs  pre- 
sented difficulties 

"But,"  declared  old  Monsieur  sagely,  "in  America  I  have  heard 
it  is  the  custom.  There  all  the  haul  mondej  it  is  said,  lawyers, 
doctors,  ministers,  statesmen,  blow  their  noses  in  that  manner!" 

This  was  too  much.    I  hurried  from  the  room. 

This  morning  Monsieur  accused  me  of  being  a  coquette.  Hotly 
I  denied  the  charge.  But  why  then,  he  rejoined  triumphantly,  had 
I  asked  for  a  looking-glass  in  my  bed-room? 

BouRMONT,  January  9. 

Company  A  is  going  to  China!  Somebody  heard  somebody 
say  that  somebody  told  him  that  the  Chaplain  had  said  so.  The 
boys  are  all  excitement  over  the  idea. 

"Won't  that  be  jolly!  You'll  all  be  coming  home  with  little 
shiny  pigtails  hanging  down  your  backs!"  I  tease  them. 

"Yes  sir!  an'  we'll  learn  to  eat  our  chow  with  chopsticks!"  I 
have  solemnly  promised  the  boys  that  if  Company  A  goes  to  China 
I  will  go  too.  What's  more  I  will  learn  to  make  Chop  Suey  for 
them,    I  have  always  wanted  to  visit  China. 

Thus  does  the  army  rumor  make  sport  of  us.  Reports  of  this 
sort  incessantly  spring  up  among  us,  flourish  for  a  day,  to  be  for- 
gotten on  the  morrow.    It  is  just  a  sign  I  suppose  of  the  restless- 


COMPANY  A  43 

ness  that  is  rife  among  the  boys,  the  nostalgia,  the  rebellion  at  the 
grinding  monotony  of  their  lives.  Half  the  men  in  the  company, 
it  seems,  have  gone  to  their  officers  begging  to  be  transferred  into 
one  of  the  two  divisions  that  have  already  been  in  the  lines. 

"I'm  sick  o'  this  kind  o'  life;  what  I  came  over  here  for  was  to 
fight,"  they  growl. 

In  the  canteen  they  look  at  the  French  National  Loan  poster 
which  has  the  Statue  of  Liberty  on  it,  and  speculate  as  to  their 
chances  of  ever  seeing  her  again. 

"Oh  boy!  but  I  bet  there'll  be  some  noise  on  board  ship  when 
we  catch  sight  o'  that  ol'  gal  again!" 

"They  wouldn't  be  breakin'  my  heart  if  they  gave  out  orders 
tonight  to  start  for  home  termorrer."  The  chorus  groans  assent. 
"No  sir!"  speaks  up  Private  Gatts,  "I  don't  want  to  go  home  until 
I've  kUled  some  of  them  Germans." 

"Aw,  come  off,"  rises  the  incredulous  jeer;  "you  know,  if  they'd 
let  you,  you'd  start  out  to  walk  to  Saint  Nazaire  tonight  if  you 
had  to  carry  your  full  pack  an'  your  rifle  an'  your  extra  shoes." 

To  beguile  the  tedium  they  indulge  in  what  appears  to  be,  next 
to  crap-shooting,  the  most  popular  indoor  sport  of  the  A.  E.  F. — 
mustache  raising.  I  don't  believe  there's  a  man  in  the  company 
outside  of  Cummings  and  Maggioni  who  hasn't  tried  his  luck  at 
it.  Sometunes  it  seems  as  though  an  epidemc  of  young  mustaches 
will  break  out  overnight  as  it  were.  The  second  lieutenants  jeer 
and  witticize  in  vain.  There  is  one  squad  who  have  solemnly 
pledged  themselves  to  remain  mustachioed  until  they  "can  the 
Kaiser;"  but  for  the  most  part,  the  Uttle  "CharHes"  are  fleeting 
affairs  that  come  and  go  according  to  their  owner's  whim.  This 
makes  it  quite  confusing  for  me,  because  no  sooner  have  I  got  to 
know  a  lad  with  a  mustache  by  sight,  than  he  shaves  it  off  and  alters 
his  appearance  so  that  I  have  to  learn  him  all  over  again.  But  even 
the  excitement  of  raising  a  mustache  and  having  your  picture 
taken  and  sending  it  back  home  to  your  best  girl  and  then  waiting 
to  hear  what  she  will  say  about  it,  affords  only  a  brief  diversion. 
And  when  that  is  done,  we  are  face  to  face  again  with  the  stark 


44  BOURMONT 

sheer  stupidity  of  drilling  and  hiking,  hiking  and  drilling,  day  after 
day,  week  in  and  week  out,  in  the  slush,  the  mud,  and  the  rain. 

"Another  day,  another  dollar,"  remarks  my  friend  Mr.  Brady 
with  philosophic  resignation  as  he  comes  in  from  walking  post  at 
night,  "Betsy  the  Toad-sticker,"  as  he  familiarly  terms  his  rifle, 
over  his  shoulder. 

"I  sure  was  strong  on  the  patriotic  stuff  when  I  enlisted,"  mourns 
a  lad  cast  in  a  less  stoic  mould,  "  but  since  I  got  over  here  I'll  tell 
the  world  my  patriotism  is  all  shot  to  pieces." 

"Who  called  this  here  land  Sunny  France,  I'd  Uke  to  know?"  is 
the  indignant  question  which  someone  is  bound  to  propose  at  least 
once  a  day. 

"I've  only  seen  the  sun  twice  since  I've  been  here,"  complained 
one  lad,  "and  then  it  was  kind  of  mildewed." 

"It  stopped  raining  for  three  hours  the  other  day,"  remarked 
another,  "an'  I  wrote  home  to  my  folks  an'  told  'em  what  a  long 
dry  spell  we'd  been  having." 

Altogether  we  are  inclined  to  take  a  very  pessimistic  view  at 
present  of  our  surroundings. 

"This  land  is  a  thousand  years  behind  the  times,"  is  the  re- 
iterated comment,  and  who  can  blame  them,  having  seen  nothing 
of  France  but  these  tiny  primitive  mud-and-muck  villages?  "It 
ain't  worth  fightin'  for.  Why  if  I  owned  this  country  I'd  give  it 
to  the  Germans  and  apologize  to  'em." 

"It  ain't  the  country,  it's  the  people  in  it,"  asserted  another  lad 
darkly. 

While  the  Tall  Kentuckian  declared,  "When  I  came  to  France, 
the  height  of  my  ambition  was  to  kill  a  German.  Now  the  height 
of  my  ambition  is  to  kill  a  Frenchman." 

What  can  one  say  to  them?  I  try  fatuously  to  comfort  by  re- 
minding them  of  the  good  time  coming  when  we  all  get  home  again. 
I  paint  rosy  pictures  of  a  grand  parade  of  the  division  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  but  they  are  sceptical. 

"Huh!  That  won't  be  for  us!  All  the  fuss  will  be  for  the  National 
Guard  and  the  draft  guys.  The  reg'lars  don't  never  get  no  credit." 


COMPANY  A  45 

Then  someone  will  start  to  hum  the  song  which  goes; 
"O  why  didn't  I  wait  to  be  drafted? 
Why  didn't  I  wait  to  be  cheered?  " 
"Well  I'll  tell  the  world  that  you  deserve  the  credit!'* 
Anyway  Company  A  has  settled  one  point:  if  they  ever  march 
up  Fifth  Avenue  I  am  to  march  with  them. 

BouRMONT,  January  ii. 

The  "convicts"  are  out  of  quarantine,  and  none  the  worse  it 
seems  for  the  experience.  Yet  my  family  is  still  depleted.  Forty 
boys  from  the  company  have  been  sent  out  on  a  wood-chopping 
detail.  Detachments  from  each  of  the  four  companies  in  rotation 
are  being  sent  out  into  the  forest  to  cut  fuel  for  the  use  of  the  First 
Battalion  and  now  it  is  our  turn. 

The  boys,  we  learn,  are  billeted  in  a  twelfth  century  fortress 
in  a  tiny  village  at  the  forest's  edge.  From  time  to  time  some  of 
them  hike  the  four  miles  in  to  Saint  Thiebault  after  the  day's  work 
is  done,  in  order  to  get  a  cup  of  hot  chocolate  and  to  tease  a  candle 
out  of  me.  For  the  chateau  boasts  none  of  the  modern  luxuries 
of  heat  and  light. 

"What  do  you  do  in  the  evenings?"  I  asked  Mr.  Gatts. 

"Sit  in  the  cafe.   It's  the  only  place  there  is  to  go." 

"I'm  sorry." 

"Well  you  needn't  worry  about  the  boys  drinkin'.  They  ain't 
none  of  them  got  no  money.  All  they  can  do  is  to  sit  and  watch 
the  Frenchies." 

Indeed  such  a  long  time  has  passed  since  our  last  payday  that 
the  whole  company  is  feeling  the  pinch  of  poverty.  Canteen  sales 
have  narrowed  down  to  the  three  essentials;  chocolate,  cigarettes 
and  chewing  gum.  I  am  running  accounts  on  my  personal  re- 
sponsibility, giving  them  "jawbone"  as  the  boys  say,  a  proceeding 
at  which  our  Secretary  looks  with  a  disapproving  eye.  To  be  sure 
the  air  is  full  of  rumours  of  impending  payday  but  meanwhile  there 
is  no  disguising  the  fact  that  the  great  majority  is  "dead  broke." 

Says  Sergeant  X  to  Sergeant  Z,  a  boy  with  a  curious  cast  of 


46  BOURMONT 

countenance;  "Say,  Bill,  do  you  remember  the  time  I  paid  ten 
cents  to  see  you  in  a  cage  at  Bamum's?  Well  I  want  that  dime 
back  now." 

Another  lad  in  answer  to  the  appeal  of  "got  a  cent?"  replies 
with  feeling ; "  One  cent?   Why  man,  if  I  had  a  cent  I'd  go  to  Paris !" 

They  have  court-martialed  the  lieutenant  who  beat  Malotzzi. 
His  punishment  is  to  be  transferred  to  another  regiment. 

BouRMONT,  January  14. 

Madame  is  sick  and  I  am  worried.  It  isn't  so  much  that  she  is 
dangerously  ill  as  that  she  is  dangerously  old.  She  lies  in  the  big 
blue  room  upstairs,  looking  like  a  patient  aged  Madonna,  without 
a  fire,  and  with  no  one  to  look  after  her.  Monsieur  it  seems  has 
made  up  his  mind  to  her  demise  and  piously  resigned  himself.  I 
called  in  an  army  doctor. 

"She's  pretty  low,"  he  said,  "but  it  isn't  medicine  she  needs  so 
much  as  nursing." 

I  informed  Monsieur.  He  must  get  a  woman  to  come  in  and  take 
care  of  her.  But  there  was  no  such  woman.  He  must  try  to  find 
one.  But  no,  it  was  impossible!  "Well  at  least,  you  can  make 
a  fire  in  her  room,"  I  told  him.  As  for  La  Petite^  she  has  proved 
herself  a  broken  reed.  Lacking  Madame's  rigid  eyes  upon  her, 
she  has  become  lazy  and  negligent.  Moreover  she  is  indubitably 
in  love  with  some  doughty  doughboy,  the  proof  being  that  she 
spends  the  time  when  she  should  be  gathering  the  harvest  of  dust 
from  the  Salle  des  Assiettes  in  copying  English  phrases  from  our 
books  on  to  the  Gendarme's  pink  blotting-paper.  Yesterday  we 
found  "Welcome  Americans"  scrawled  all  over  it.  Meanwhile 
Monsieur  seems  to  consider  himseK  as  qualifying  for  a  martyr's 
crown  because  he  gets  his  own  meals  and  washes  his  own  dishes. 
"Afaw,  regardez  Mademoiselle!"  he  calls  to  me  as  I  pass  through 
the  Hving-room,  and  flourishes  the  dish-cloth  at  me  with  a  tragic 
air.  So  between  excursions  to  the  canteen  I  am  trying  to  play 
nurse  to  Madame,  and  a  pretty  poor  one  I  make,  I  fear.  Worse 
stilly  I  must  act  as  interpreter  for  the  Doctor^  whose  French  is 


COMPANY  A  47 

absolutely  nil,  at  every  visit  and  since  my  scanty  stock  of  French 
phrases  hardly  includes  a  sick-room  vocabulary  I  am  often  abso- 
lutely at  a  loss.  But  we  muddle  through  somehow  and  the  Doctor 
gets  his  reward  when  we  stop  to  speak  to  Monsieur  in  the  front-room 
afterwards,  for  then  Monsieur  must  bring  out  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne and  together  they  sit  in  front  of  the  fire  and  toast  each  other. 

Yesterday  the  Doctor  prescribed  fresh  eggs.  I  told  Monsieur. 
But  there  were  none  in  Bourmont  he  declared. 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  "then  I'll  get  them." 

I  started  out  to  search.  I  knew  of  course  that  eggs  in  France 
these  days  were  difficult.  In  some  places  the  Americans  have  been 
forbidden,  on  account  of  the  scarcity,  to  buy  either  eggs  or  chickens; 
a  ruUng  which  officers  have  been  known  to  evade  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  renting  laying  hens.  But  no  such  prohibition  exists 
at  present  in  Saint  Thiebault.  Just  the  other  day  a  lad  told  me 
he  had  consumed  twelve  fried  eggs  at  one  sitting. 

"Yes  and  Corporal  G.  ate  more  than  I  did." 

"How  many  did  he  eat? " 

"Oh,  just  thirteen." 

"No  wonder,"  I  observed,  "that  the  French  talk  about  la  fa- 
mine!'^ I  started  a  house-to-house  canvas  of  Saint  Thiebault  only 
to  be  met  by  a  shake  of  the  head  and  "Paj  des  oeufs^^  everywhere 
I  went.  Finally  back  at  the  canteen  I  put  the  question  in  despair 
to  the  boys.  "Have  you  been  to  the  tobacco  shop?"  they  in- 
quired. So  to  the  tobacco  shop  I  hurried  and  sure  enough  there 
they  were,  all  one  wanted  at  the  rate  of  seven  francs  a  dozen. 

Last  night  Madame  had  an  egg-nogg  and  this  morning  an 
omelette.    Now  the  Doctor  says  that  she  is  better. 

Bourmont,  January  17. 
If  my  fairy  god-mother  should  lend  me  her  magic  wand,  the 
very  first  thing  I  would  wish  for  would  be  a  dinner,  a  real  dinner 
just  like  Mother  used  to  cook,  for  Company  A.  It  would  start  with 
turkey  and  cranberry  sauce  and  end  with  several  kinds  of  pie, 
ice-cream  and  chocolate  layer  cake.    There  would  be  no  soup  on 


48  BOURMONT 

the  menu.  Such  a  meal  I  am  sure  would  do  more  to  raise  the  morale 
of  Company  A  than  the  news  of  a  smashing  allied  victory.  It  is 
the  everlasting  sameness,  the  perpetual  reiteration  of  a  certain  few 
articles  of  food,  I  suppose,  that  makes  the  boys'  "chow"  so  de- 
pressing. 

*'IVe  eaten  so  much  bacon  since  I've  been  in  the  army,"  re- 
marked one  boy  mournfully,  "that  I'm  ashamed  to  look  a  pig  in 
the  face." 

There  is  one  question  which  the  whole  A.  E.  F.  would  like  to 
have  answered.  They've  "got  the  bacon,"  but  what  became  of 
the  ham? 

Far  more  hated  than  the  bacon,  however,  is  the  "slum,"  a  word 
which  Pat  informs  me  is  derived  from  the  "  slumgullion"  of  the 
hobo.  It  is  this  "slum"  that  gives  the  doughboy  his  horror  of 
anything  like  soup. 

"  When  I  get  back  to  New  York,"  said  a  lad  to  me  the  other  day, 
"I'm  going  to  go  into  a  real  swell  hotel  and  order  a  big  dish  o* 
slum.  Then  I'm  going  to  order  a  regular  dinner,  beefsteak  and 
oysters  and  all  the  fixings,  and  then  I'm  going  to  sit  and  laugh  at 
the  slum." 

Pat  came  in  with  a  whoop  after  dinner  yesterday.  "We  had  a 
change  today,"  he  sang  out,  "they  put  a  pickle  in  the  beans!" 
This  noon  he  bounced  in  again.  "We  had  a  change  today,"  he 
shouted,  "they  cut  the  beans  lengthwise  instead  of  cuttin'  them 
acrosst." 

I  made  a  fatal  error.  "Don't  you  like  beans? "  I  asked.  "Why 
I'm  very  fond  of  them.  I  wish  they'd  give  them  to  us  at  our  mess 
once  in  a  while." 

Pat  looked  at  me  with  his  sharp  eyes  narrowing.  "D'you  mean 
it?" 

"Why  of  course  I  do!" 

He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  hut.  Two  minutes  later  he 
returned  with  a  hunk  of  bread  and  a  mess-kit  brimfull  of  beans; 
he  laid  them  on  the  counter  in  front  of  me.  I  gasped  but  did  my 
best  to  rise  to  the  occasion.    I  was  delighted  to  see  those  beans, 


COMPANY  A  49 

I  assured  him.  I  had  just  been  starting  out  to  go  to  mess;  a  little 
bird  had  told  me  they  were  to  have  roast  pork,  French  fries,  and 
peach  pie  for  dinner,  but  now  I  would  stay  at  the  hut  and  eat 
beans  instead.  Then  I  tasted  the  beans.  They  were  as  hard  as 
bullets,  they  stuck  in  my  throat;  I  had  never  known  anything 
could  be  quite  so  awful.  But  Pat's  eyes  were  upon  me.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  swallow  those  beans.  So  swallow  them  I 
did,  every  last  one,  and  there  were  positively  at  least  a  thousand. 
Then  I  washed  the  mess-kit  and  returned  it  to  friend  Pat  with 
effusive  thanks.  At  least,  I  complimented  myself,  I  had  been 
game.  Tonight,  just  as  I  was  starting  out  for  my  supper  of  toast 
and  chocolate  with  the  Httle  old  ladies  of  the  Rue  Dieu,  Pat  sud- 
denly appeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  counter. 

"We  had  'em  again  tonight,"  he  announced  joj^uUy,  "and  I 
thought  since  you  were  so  fond  of  'em," — ^he  pushed  another 
mess-kit  full  of  beans  across  the  counter.  I  glared  at  him.  I  had 
vainly  been  trying  to  recover  from  the  dinner  beans  all  afternoon. 

"Take  those  things  away,"  I  snapped,  "I  don't  want  to  lay  eyes 
on  another  bean  as  long  as  ever  I  live!"  Pat  had  called  my  bluJBf. 

For  the  last  week  Company  A  has  had  guests  in  the  mess-hall. 
Several  French  soldiers  have  been  sent  here  to  instruct  the  boys  in 
some  special  drill;  it  was  arranged  that  they  eat  and  sleep  with  the 
Americans.  Dreary  as  the  boys  find  their  chow,  it  proved  a  treat 
to  the  poilus  who  evidently  spread  the  news  of  their  good  fortune 
among  their  friends  in  the  vicinity,  for  day  by  day  the  number  of 
Frenchmen  messing  with  Company  A  was  mysteriously  increased. 

"Yes  sir!"  the  indignant  Mess  Sergeant  declared  to  me.  "They 
started  in  with  five  and  now  they've  grown  to  be  fifteen.  I  can't 
tell  one  from  t'other  because  all  these  frogs  look  alike  to  me,  and 
they  know  as  how  I  can't  sling  their  Hngo.  That's  a  nice  thing  for 
them  to  be  putting  over  on  me!" 

But  yesterday  he  got  his  chance  to  get  even.  He  caught  one 
of  the  Frenchmen  putting  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  pocket.  It  is  of 
course  a  military  offense  to  carry  food  out  of  the  mess-hall. 

"I  just  sailed  right  into  that  guy" — the  Mess  Sergeant  is  a 


so  BOURMONT 

large  and  husky  specimen — "and  I  sure  did  wipe  up  the  floor  some 
with  him.  And  since  then  the  whole  gang  of  'em  has  been  scared 
stiff.  Those  frogs  just  watch  me  all  the  time.  There  ain't  a  minute 
when  I'm  in  the  mess-hall  that  one  of  'em  takes  his  eyes  off  me." 

The  other  day,  they  tell  me,  one  of  the  boys  in  the  company, 
possessed  of  a  practical  turn,  employed  his  newly-issued  "tin 
derby  "  as  a  kettle  in  which  to  boil  some  eggs.  The  delicacy 
proved  dear.  Betrayed  by  the  blackened  helmet,  he  was  tried  and 
fined  twenty  dollars. 

BouRMONT,  January  20. 

I'm  off  for  Paris!  My  eyes  have  been  in  a  horrid  state  for  the 
last  week.  I  have  had  all  the  doctors  in  the  neighborhood  treating 
them  and  they  only  get  worse  and  worse.  The  Chief  is  going  up 
to  Paris  tomorrow  and  has  decided  that  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to 
take  me  along  to  see  a  specialist. 

Madame  is  so  much  better  that  I  don't  feel  uneasy  at  leaving 
her.  But  I  hate  to  desert  the  boys,  especially  as  the  hut  is  in  such 
a  state.  Yesterday  we  had  a  storm  and  the  wind  almost  wrecked 
our  tent.  There  was  one  moment  while  I  was  out  at  dinner,  when 
such  a  gust  hit  it,  that,  as  the  boys  said,  "  She  sure  seemed  a  goner.'* 
At  that  moment  there  was  a  stampede  for  the  door,  the  boys  shoot- 
ing out  of  the  tent  "just  like  seeds  from  an  orange  when  you  squeeze 
it."  But  thanks  to  the  Secretary  and  a  crowd  of  boys  who  got 
out  and  hung  for  dear  life  on  to  the  guy  ropes,  the  tent  came  through 
damaged  but  still  standing.  When  I  returned  after  mess  I  found 
our  hut  with  two  great  gaping  rents  torn  in  the  outer  walls  and 
the  inner  lining  all  ripped  loose  and  hanging  down  from  the  ceiling, 
so  that  one  felt  exactly  as  if  one  were  inside  a  punctured  zeppelin. 

Reports  coming  in  this  morning  from  other  points  on  the  divi- 
sion state  that  two  tents  actually  did  collapse  during  the  tempest, 
and  that  one  man,  caught  beneath  the  wreckage,  had  his  collar- 
bone broken.    So  we  can  count  ourselves  lucky. 

Tonight  I  said  au  ^voir  to  Company  A,  telling  them  that  if  pay- 
day should  occur  during  my  absence,  I  hoped  they  all  would  be 


COMPANY  A  SI 

very,  very  good.  Some  of  the  boys  lugubriously  predicted  that 
I  would  never  return,  while  others  darkly  insinuated  that  they 
suspected  I  was  "goin'  to  Paris  to  git  married."  To  show  them 
what  my  intentions  honestly  were,  I  inquired  if  there  were  any 
errands  I  could  do  for  them  in  the  city.  Corporal  G.  looked  at 
me,  stammered,  hesitated.  There  was  something  he  would  Uke, 
only  he  didn't  want  to  bother  me.  What  was  it?  He  paused,  grew 
red,  then  blurted  it  out. 

"If  it  ain't  too  much  trouble,  could  you  send  me  a  picture  post- 
card while  you're  away?   I  ain't  never  had  a  post-card  from  Paris." 

H6pital  Claude-Bernard 

Porte  D'Aubervilliers, 

Paris,  January  25. 

This  is  a  hideous  hospital.  They  wake  you  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  to  wrap  you  in  a  mustard  poultice.  They  wake  you  up 
in  the  wee  sma'  hours  and  order  you  to  brush  your  teeth.  And 
nobody  in  the  whole  establishment  from  head-doctor  to  scrub-lady 
knows  a  word  of  English;  except  the  night-nurse  and  she  knows 
"mumpsss!"  like  that  she  says  it,  "MUMPSSSSS!"  Not  that 
I  have  them;  I  have  the  measles.  I  don't  know  where  I  got  them. 
They  were,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  almost  the  only  known  malady 
which  we  didn't  have  at  Bourmont.  Probably  some  lad  who  was 
passing  through  the  town  and  stopped  in  at  the  canteen  gave  them 
to  me.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  measles  that  were  affecting  my 
eyes;  sometimes  it  seems  they  act  that  way. 

They  sent  me  to  this  hospital  because  it  was  the  only  hospital 
in  Paris  admitting  women  that  had  room  for  me:  known  oJQ&cially 
as  the  city  hospital  for  contagious  diseases,  among  Americans  it 
passes  as  "the  pest-house." 

They  think  I'm  a  weird  one  here,  because  I  want  my  window 
open.  Twenty-nine  times  a  day  at  least  an  infirmi^re  will  come 
hurrying  in  and  bang  it  shut  and  twenty-nine  times  a  day  I  crawl 
out  of  bed  and  open  it  again. 

The  nursing  here  is  all  done  by  infirmiereSj  or  untrained  women 


52  BOURMONT 

under  the  direction  of  two  real  nurses,  one  in  charge  of  this  wing 
during  the  day,  the  other  during  the  night.  Some  of  these  infirm- 
ihres  go  about  in  curl  papers,  others  wear  sabots.  They  mean  well 
enough,  but  they  are  overworked,  and  frankly  peasant  types,  with 
little  education  and  almost  no  notion  of  cleanliness  or  of  much 
else  that  is  supposed  to  pertain  to  nursing.  Last  night  a  fat  old 
soul  without  many  teeth  came  waddling  into  my  room  to  have  a 
look  at  that  interesting  curiosity,  la  pauvre  petite  Dame  Americaine. 
When  she  saw  my  open  window  she  was  so  overcome  with  aston- 
ishment that  she  hurried  out  and  fetched  a  companion  to  regard 
the  phenomenon.  The  two  of  them  stood  and  stared  at  it  and  dis- 
cussed the  matter  between  themselves  for  quite  a  while,  then  the 
fat  one  turned  to  me  and  remarked  with  a  toothless  but  engaging 
smile;  it  was  very  warm  in  America  where  I  lived,  was  it  not?  When 
I  replied  that,  instead,  it  was  much  colder  in  winter  there  than  here 
in  Paris,  they  looked  aghast  and  flatly  incredulous.  Their  only 
explanation  of  the  matter  had  been,  it  seemed,  that  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  living  in  the  tropics  and  just  didn't  have  sense  enough 
to  suit  my  habits  to  the  atmosphere. 

Just  outside  the  hospital  there  is  a  munitions  factory.  At  night 
the  light  over  the  front  door  shines  into  my  room  and  day  and 
night  the  machinery  keeps  up  an  incessant  thudding  hum  that  says 
as  plain  as  words  over  and  over  and  over:  Kill  the  Boches.  Kill  the 
Boches.  Kill  the  Boches.  Once  in  a  long  while  the  machines  stop  for 
a  few  moments  in  order,  I  suppose,  to  catch  their  breath  and  then  I 
grow  dreadfully  worried,  for  I  know  that  if  someone  doesn't  keep 
on  killing  the  Boches  every  second,  they  will  be  breaking  through 
the  lines  and  pouring  in  over  France  in  great  drowning  grey  waves. 

January  27.  I  haven't  got  the  measles  after  all;  I  have  the  Ger- 
man measles,  only  they  don't  call  it  that  in  French  I  am  glad  to 
say.  At  first  I  was  so  very  red  and  speckled  that  they  thought 
I  had  the  rougeole,  but  now  they  have  decided  it  is  only  the  rubeola 
after  all.  A  concourse  of  doctors  considered  me  yesterday  morning 
and  pronounced  the  verdict.    "But  then,"  I  demanded,  "if  it's 


COMPANY  A  S3 

only  the  ruheole  can't  I  be  leaving  tout  de  suite?  ^^  For  the  French 
do  not  consider  quarantine  necessary  for  the  rubeole.  "Eight 
days/'  they  answered,  and  when  I  expostulated  they  turned  on  their 
collective  heels  and  marched  callously  out  the  door,  each  one  hold- 
ing up  eight  fingers  apiece  as  a  parting  rejoinder. 

Last  night  I  resisted  a  great  temptation.  This  place  is  full  of 
doors  with  Httle  glass  panes  in  them.  As  I  lay  awake  in  bed  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  a  wild  desire  grew  on  me  to  seize  my  big 
green  bottle  of  mineral  water  by  the  neck  and  see  how  many  panes 
of  glass  I  could  account  for  before  they  nabbed  me.  I  had  a  per- 
fect vision  of  myself,  flying  down  the  hall  in  my  little  flour-sack 
chemise  of  a  night-gown,  long  legs  stretching  out  beneath,  going 
zip,  bang,  right  and  left  into  those  window  panes.  I  have  seldom 
wanted  to  do  anything  quite  so  badly.  And  then  just  to  top 
off  with  I  was  going  to  wring  the  interne's  neck.  He  is  a  Httle 
shrimp  of  a  man — that  interne,  with  no  chin  and  a  sort  of  scrawny 
picked-chicken  neck,  a  neck  that  gets  on  one's  nerves. 

When  they  sent  me  to  this  hospital  I  comforted  myself  with  the 
thought  that  I  would  at  least  learn  a  little  French  while  staying 
here,  but  the  only  thing  I  have  learned  so  far  is  that  gargariser 
means  gargle  and  any  goose  might  have  guessed  that. 

January  28.  The  Chief  has  sent  me  a  rose-pink  cyclamen. 
It  is  a  lovely  thing  and  very  elaborately  done  up  with  pink  crepe 
paper  and  a  large  bow  of  shell-pink  ribbon.  Now  I  am  no  longer 
an  object  of  any  interest.  Every  last  doctor,  nurse,  interne  and 
infirmiere  who  comes  into  my  room  to  take  a  look  at  la  petite  Mees, 
immediately  turns  his  or  her  back  on  me  and  admires  the  cyclamen 
instead.  I  gather  such  objects  are  rare  in  French  hospitals,  for 
they  examine  and  discuss  it  at  the  greatest  length,  always  winding 
up  with  the  remark  that  it  must  have  "cost  very  dear." 

Not  having  anything  else  to  do  I  Ue  with  my  eyes  shut  and  think. 
And  of  course  I  have  been  thinking  chiefly  about  Company  A.  I 
have  thought  among  other  things  of  a  play,  or  rather  a  dramatic 
charade  in  three  acts,  which  we  might  give  in  the  hut.    It  is  to  be 


54  BOURMONT 

entitled  Slum.  In  the  first  act, — BUI —  three  doughboys  hit  on  a 
plan  to  encompass  the  Kaiser's  death  and  so  become  rich  by  gain- 
ing the  proffered  reward: — they  will  send  him  a  dish  of  slimi!  The 
second  act, — et — shows  a  room  in  the  Potsdam  palace  with  Kaiser 
Bill  and  His  Side  Whiskers,  the  Lord  High  Chancellor,  discussing 
the  food  situation.  The  slum  appears;  the  Kaiser  partakes  of  it 
and  falls  writhing  to  the  floor.  The  last  act  shows  a  typical  barn- 
loft  billet,  with  rats  squeaking,  chickens  clucking  et  cetera,  where 
the  Soldiers  Three  of  the  first  act  have  their  lodging.  They  receive 
the  tidings  of  the  Kaiser's  death;  wild  rejoicings  ensue,  as  in  fancy 
they  spend  their  fortunes;  only  to  be  cut  short  by  the  discovery 
that  the  cook  who  made  the  slum  has  already  claimed  the  reward. 
I  think  we  can  stage  it  successfully,  though  the  costumes  for  the 
Kaiser  and  His  Side  Whiskers  present  some  difficulties.  One  thing 
only  troubles  me;  will  it  hurt  the  Mess  Sergeant's  feeUngs? 

January  30.  They  have  relented.  They  have  shortened  my 
stay.  I  am  to  be  let  out  tomorrow,  but  I  must  reposer  a  few  days 
before  going  back  to  work.  Bother!  I  haven't  heard  anything 
from  Bourmont  for  ten  days  and  I  am  full  of  uneasy  apprehensions. 
Since  I  have  been  in  the  hospital  the  cyclamen  has  been  the  only 
word  I  have  had  from  the  outside  world.  I  have  been  cut  off  as 
completely  as  if  I  were  in  a  tomb.  Ah  well,  some  day  I'll  get  back 
to  the  hut  again  I  suppose,  and  when  I  do,  if  those  boys  aren't 
almost  half  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I  am  to  see  them,  why  I'll  know 
that  some  other  canteen  lady  has  been  surreptitiously  stealing  their 
affections,  and  I  shall  put  poison  in  her  soup. 

Hopital  Claude-Bernard, 

Paris,  January  31. 

I  have  been  in  a  big  air  raid;  this  is  just  how  it  all  happened: 

It  was  a  white  night  in  the  hospital  for  me.    I  had  lain  for  hours, 

it  seemed,  in  the  Httle  blue  room  watching  through  the  glass  panes 

of  my  door  the  coiffed  head  of  a  young  infirmihe  bent  over  her 

embroidery.    She  sat  outside  my  door  because  there  was  a  light 

in  the  hall  just  there.    Suddenly  my  drowsy  ears  were  pierced  by 


COMPANY  A  55 

a  long  weird  hoot.  In  an  instant  the  girl  had  leaped  to  her  feet 
and  switched  off  the  light,  then  she  turned  and  ran  down  the  hall. 
A  moment  later  and  the  building  was  in  darkness.  I  jumped  from 
my  bed  and  ran  to  the  window.  The  light  in  front  of  the  munitions 
factory  was  out,  there  seemed  an  uncanny  silence,  the  machinery 
had  been  stopped.  I  hurried  to  the  door.  The  corridor  was  full 
of  hastening  forms,  infirmieres,  their  loose  white  robes  showing 
dimly  in  the  grey  Hght. 

*' Qu^ est  ce  qui  arrive?"  I  demsLnded. 

''LesBochesP' 

The  night  nurse  was  peering  from  my  window. 

"It's  the  first  warning,"  she  whispered.  "See!  the  lights  of 
Paris  still  shine." 

But  even  as  we  looked,  the  light  across  the  sky  that  was  Paris 
flickered,  dimmed,  flashed  out.  At  the  same  moment  two  great 
golden  stars  rose  over  the  munitions  factory. 

^'Les  avions!"  cried  the  night  nurse. 

And  all  the  time  the  sirens  kept  up  their  ghostly  wailing,  like 
nothing  one  could  imagine  except  a  vast  host  of  lost  souls.  Then 
the  guns  began.  A  moment  later  a  crashing  thud  told  that  a  bomb 
had  fallen  in  our  neighborhood.  The  night  nurse  drew  me  hurriedly 
into  the  hall. 

"Lie  down  against  the  wall, — close — ^like  this,"  she  ordered. 

Up  and  down  the  corridor  every  space  by  the  wall  was  occupied 
by  the  huddled  form  of  an  inflrmiere  buried  beneath  a  mattress. 
The  night  nurse,  who  had  a  whole  heap  of  mattresses  to  herself, 
pushed  one  across  to  me.  I  lay  on  the  top,  finding  it  more  com- 
fortable that  way. 

The  bombs  were  falling  nearer.  A  child  in  one  of  the  wards  woke 
up  and  began  to  wail  fretfully.  No  one  heeded  her.  There  was 
a  flash  and  then  a  tearing  thud  that  shook  the  hospital.  I  had  one 
ghastly  moment,  a  thrill  of  panic  terror  at  our  utter  helplessness 
as  we  lay  there  awaiting  what  seemed  the  inevitable  coming  of 
destruction.  The  moment  passed.  I  got  up  and  sUpped  down  the 
side  corridor  to  the  glass  door.    The  sky  was  full  of  moving  lights; 


S6  BOURMONT 

some  burned  with  a  steady  brilliancy,  some  flickered  and  went 
out  like  fireflies,  a  few  flashed  red.  There  was  no  telling  which  was 
friend  or  foe.  They  seemed  to  be  proceeding  in  all  directions  with- 
out plan  or  purpose.  The  air  pulsated  with  the  humming  drone  of 
their  motors.  They  were  Uke  a  swarm  of  angry  hornets  I  thought. 
Across  the  road,  standing  on  the  top  of  a  high  wall,  in  sharp  sil- 
houette against  the  sky,  three  poilus  stood  to  watch.  Every  now 
and  then  an  infirmUre,  curiosity  outweighing  caution,  would  leave 
her  hiding-place  and  creep  to  the  door  beside  me  only  to  burrow 
like  a  bug,  a  moment  later,  underneath  her  mattress  once  more. 

*'Meesl  N'avez-vous  pas  peur?'* 

*^Maisnonl" 

"Ahf  vous  ties  un  soldat  /" 

I  went  back  to  my  room  and  climbed  out  on  the  window-sill. 
At  first  I  thought  the  Ughts  of  Paris  had  been  turned  on  again,  but 
this  time  they  were  color  of  rose.  As  I  looked  the  pink  flush  deep- 
ened, grew  ruddy,  flamed  across  the  sky.  I  called  the  night  nurse. 
"Cest  une  incendie/^  she  wailed  staccato.    ^'Quel  malheurr* 

So  Paris  was  on  fire. 

As  we  watched  two  big  puffs  of  white  smoke  rose  over  the  muni- 
tions factory,  spread  into  a  cloud,  drifted  slowly  toward  us.  The 
night  nurse  sniffed,  then  shut  the  window  hurriedly. 

"Za  gaz,"  she  whispered.  I  questioned  it  but  left  the  window 
shut. 

An  aeroplane  swung  low  over  the  munitions  factory,  so  near 
that  it  looked  like  a  great  lazy  fish  with  the  rose  light  from  below 
shining  on  its  belly.   Was  it  friend  or  enemy? 

The  bombs  were  dropping  close  again.  One  could  see  the  flashes 
and  feel  the  jar  of  the  explosions  which  made  the  windows  rattle. 

''Okies  sales  Boches!" 

''OhlaUr 

The  agonized  wails  sounded  half  stifled  from  beneath  the  mat- 
tresses. 

"  TaisezI   £coutezI "    It  was  the  night  nurse's  voice. 

The  front  door  slammed.    A  fat  infirmidre  in  a  badly  shattered 


COMPANY  A  57 

state  of  nerves  stumbled  down  the  hall  weeping  out  unintelligible 
woes.  At  my  mattress  she  came  to  a  standstill,  then  ducked  and 
tried  to  crawl  beneath  it;  faiUng,  she  sat  down  on  top  of  me.  I 
ventured  a  polite  protest, — in  vain.  The  night  nurse  heard  me. 
She  emerged  from  beneath  her  heap.  Followed  a  scene  dramatic, 
unforgettable.  Mattresses  scattered  to  each  side  of  her,  heedless 
of  the  falling  bombs,  with  Gallic  passion  she  proceeded  to  point 
out  to  the  sobbing  inflrmUre  the  shortcomings  of  her  behaviour. 
But  the  fat  lady  proved  unrepentant,  her  terror  at  the  bombs 
superseding  even  her  awe  of  the  night  nurse.  She  sat  tight,  hold- 
ing her  ground.  She  even  ventured  to  answer  back.  The  scene 
grew  more  intense.  After  I  had  heard  the  night  nurse  discharge 
the  infirmibre  some  six  times  over,  feeling  a  trifle  out  of  place,  I 
managed  to  crawl  from  beneath  and  made  my  way  back  to  the 
window.  No  more  bombs  were  falling  but  the  guns  still  barked. 
As  I  watched,  a  burning  plane  looking  like  a  great  tinsel  ball  seared 
its  way  through  the  sky,  faUing  just  to  the  right  of  Paris. 

'"Pray  God  it  is  a  Boche!"  I  thought. 

A  round-eyed  infirmi^re  peered  in  at  the  door,  staring  curiously 
at  me. 

"Mees!    Vous  allez  retourner  en  Amerique?" 

"  Mais  ouil   A  pres  la  guerre! '  * 

The  red  glare  over  Paris  was  fading  out.  The  machines  in  the 
munitions  factory  began  to  throb  once  more.  In  the  grey  Ught 
at  the  window  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  fifteen  minutes  past 
one.  I  turned  to  crawl  into  bed  feeUng  cold  and  very  sleepy.  Some 
one  touched  my  sleeve;  it  was  the  night  nurse.  She  was  staring 
out  the  window  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing. 

"And  how  many  little  children  will  be  dead  in  the  morning  do 
you  think?  "  she  asked. 

BouRMONT,  February  5. 

The  blow  that  I  somehow  dimly  apprehended  while  I  was  in  the 
hospital  has  fallen.  Last  night  late  I  arrived  from  Paris.  The 
first  thing  I  learned  was,  that  with  the  addition  of  some  new  workers 
a  general  shuffle  of  the  women  at  Headquarters  was  to  take  place. 


58  BOURMONT 

This  morning  the  Chief  called  us  together  and  gave  us  our  new 
assignments.  The  Gendarme  and  I  are  to  leave  Bourmont.  Since 
I  have  been  away  regimental  Headquarters  have  been  moved  from 
Saint  Thiebault  to  Goncourt,  a  town  about  two  miles  to  the  south, 
and  the  whole  regiment  with  the  exception  of  the  First  Battalion 
concentrated  there.  The  Y.  at  Goncourt  has  had  a  hard  time  of  it. 
Originally  it  occupied  a  barracks;  then  the  regimental  machine-gun 
company  moved  in  and  the  Y.  must  move  out.  So  the  Y  settled 
itself  in  an  old  stone  mill  by  the  Meuse,  only  to  have  the  military 
authorities  decide  that  they  needed  that  mill  for  a  guard-house.  So 
once  more  the  Y.  moved,  this  time  to  a  Httle  old  house  in  the  centre 
of  the  village;  and  here  according  to  last  reports  it  still  is,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  nobody  else  has  any  use  for  the  little  old  house. 
Meanwhile,  however,  they  are  putting  up  a  Big  Hut  which  is  to  be 
ready  in  from  one  to  three  weeks,  all  according  to  who  is  making  the 
estimate.  It  is  to  Goncourt  that  the  Gendarme  and  I  have  been 
assigned.    According  to  the  Chief  this  is  a  "promotion." 

"It's  the  largest,  the  most  important  place  on  the  division 
now,"  he  declared;  "I'm  sending  you  there  because  you  made  good 
at  Saint  Thiebault." 

But  this  Kttle  piece  of  taffy  doesn't  seem  to  help  matters  a  bit. 
The  only  way  to  look  at  it  is  that  it's  a  case  of  the  greatest  good 
for  the  greatest  number,  and  of  course  numerically  Goncourt  is 
about  ten  times  as  important  as  Saint  Thiebault.  And  anyway 
it  wouldn't  do  the  least  good  to  kick  against  the  pricks  because 
when  all  is  said  and  done  one  is  under  orders  like  a  soldier.  After 
all  it  isn't  as  if  I  were  going  to  Greenland  or  to  Timbuctoo.  And 
yet  at  even  only  two  miles  distance,  so  tied  to  the  work  one  must 
be,  one  might  almost  as  well  be  in  a  different  planet. 

As  for  Saint  Thiebault,  they  are  going  to  have  to  do  with  just 
a  man  secretary  there.  The  place  is  too  small,  the  Chief  says,  to 
be  allowed  more  than  one  worker. 

We  won't  be  moving  for  several  days  yet.  I'm  not  going  to  say 
a  word  about  it  to  Company  A  until  the  very  last  moment.  I 
hate  partings. 


CHAPTER  II 

GONCOURT 

THE  DOUGHBOYS 

GoNCOURT,  February  ii.  , 
The  little  old  house  which  now  harbors  the  Y.  formerly  served, 
it  seems,  as  guard-house.  To  some  it  must  have  a  strangely  fami- 
liar air.  Downstairs  there  are  two  small  rooms;  the  front  one 
stone-paved,  with  a  dark  carved  cupboard  in  one  corner  which 
formerly  enclosed  the  family  bed,  and  a  huge  fireplace;  the  back 
one  with  a  dirt  floor  over  which  uncertain  boards  have  shakily 
been  laid.  The  front  room  we  use  for  the  canteen,  the  back,  with 
four  rough  tables,  serves  as  a  make-shift  writing  room.  The  walls 
are  dim  with  smoke  and  grime,  the  windows  in  both  rooms  lack 
half  their  panes,  yet  the  odd  little  place  has  an  atmosphere,  a 
charm  all  its  own.  Upstairs  soldiers  are  billeted.  When  the  din 
of  business  dies  down  in  the  canteen,  one  can  hear  the  crisp  rattle 
of  dice  as  the  boys  shoot  craps  on  the  floor  overhead. 

In  accordance  with  mihtary  regulations  here  we  cannot  open 
the  canteen  until  four  in  the  afternoon.  But  a  large  part  of  the 
morning  is  easily  spent  in  cleaning  out  the  hut  and  arranging  the 
stock  for  the  afternoon  and  evening  onslaught.  At  Saint  Thie- 
bault  the  detail  that  "poHced  up"  the  camp  in  the  morning  swept 
out  our  tent  for  us,  but  here  one  wields  one's  own  broom  and 
shovel, —  for  first  of  all  one  must  shovel  out  the  mud  that's  on  the 
floor!  Cleanmg  the  canteen,  however,  I  find,  though  a  dirty,  is 
quite  a  remunerative  job,  for  in  the  heaps  of  Utter  on  the  floor 
money  lurks.  According  to  the  ethics  of  the  game  if  money  is 
found  back  of  the  counter  it  belongs  in  the  till,  but  if  in  front  it 
goes  to  the  finder.  Sometimes  the  find  is  five  centimes,  sometimes 
fifty  and  once  it  was  five  francs!    The  litter — chocolate  wrappers, 


6o  GONCOURT 

orange  peels  and  cigarette  boxes — is  all  swept  into  the  fireplace 
and  then  touched  off  with  a  match;  a  regular  bon-fire  ensues.  This 
morning  we  had  left  the  front  door  open;  immediately  the  fire  was 
started  a  throng  of  villagers  crowded  around  to  look  in.  They  were 
scandahzed  at  the  conflagration.  The  house  was  old,  they  cried; 
we  would  set  the  chimney  on  fire,  we  would  burn  up  the  building, 
we  would  burn  down  the  whole  town!  One  ancient  and  portly 
dame  in  a  frenzy  of  protest  dashed  into  the  room  and  fairly  danced 
about  the  hearth,  shaking  her  apron  at  the  flames  and  calling  for 
ashes  to  cover  them.  But  before  she  could  get  her  ashes  the  fire 
died  down  and  the  excitement  with  it. 

The  Gendarme  and  I  are  billeted  in  a  tiny  house  just  at  the  vil- 
lage edge.  Our  low  second  story  looks  down  upon  the  street,  so 
narrow  that  it  seems  one  could  almost  reach  out  and  touch  hands 
with  the  houses  opposite.  But  what  a  street  it  is!  Underneath  our 
low  window  the  whole  world  goes  by;  American  oflicers  on  horse- 
back, French  olBScers  in  limousines,  American  mule  teams,  French 
wood  teams  with  three  white  horses  harnessed  one  in  front  of  the 
other,  and  always  the  troops;  going  by  at  dawn  in  the  semi-dark- 
ness, their  rhythmic  incessant  tramp  weaving  itseK  into  one's 
waking  dreams,  passing  by  at  noon,  swinging  back  down  the  hill 
as  it  grows  dusk,  singing  snatches  of  song  as  they  tramp.  As  I 
He  a-bed  in  the  morning  before  getting  up  to  peer  out  the  window 
into  the  yellow  misty  atmosphere  I  can  always  calculate  the  exact 
state  of  the  weather  by  the  amount  of  squelch  which  those  march- 
ing boots  make  in  the  muddy  road. 

Company  H  is  billeted  on  this  same  street  with  us.  The  first 
morning  after  we  arrived  the  Gendarme  and  I  were  startled  out  of 
sleep  by  First  Call  blown  directly  underneath  our  window.  Hardly 
had  the  last  note  sounded  when  a  shout  fit  to  wake  the  dead  went 
up. 

"Get  to  hell  up,  all  of  you!   Rise  and  shine!" 
Followed  a  tremendous  banging  and  kicking  at  all  the  stable  doors 
along  the  street  accompanied  by  a  torrent  of  vivid  and  spicy  ad- 
monitions.   The  Gendarme  and  I  gasped  and  chuckled.    This  was 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  6i 

rich.  Were  we  always  to  be  awakened  in  so  picturesque  a  fashion? 
But  the  next  morning  we  listened  in  vain.  First  Call  was  blown  at 
the  far  end  of  the  street  and  followed  by  a  solemn  silence;  and  so 
it  has  been  ever  since.  Now  that  American  ladies  are  known  to  be 
living  on  the  street  Company  H  must  get  up  decorously. 

GoNCouRT,  February  12. 

The  fireplace  is  easily  the  feature  of  our  funny  little  hut. 
Around  this  at  night  the  lads  crowd  perched  on  packing-boxes  to 
smoke,  chew  gum  and  gossip.  As  the  first  mad  rush  of  business 
at  the  canteen  dies  down  a  Httle  I  edge  up  towards  the  fireplace 
in  order  to  get  a  wee  share  in  the  conversation. 

They  have  caught  a  spy!  One  of  the  cooks  in  F  Company.  He 
was  a  deserter  from  the  German  Army  some  one  said.  They 
caught  him  putting  dope  in  the  slum.  The  doctors  were  analyzing 
it  now.  It's  a  wonder  the  whole  company  wasn't  poisoned.  Yes, 
and  they  found  plans  of  the  camp  in  his  pocket  too.  He  hasn't 
eaten  a  thing  since  they  arrested  him.  All  he  does  is  just  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  guard-house.    Seems  as  if  he  were  kind  of  crazy. 

And  so  they  gossip.  A  sad-eyed  bugler  remarks  to  me  that  he'd 
be  a  rich  man  if  he  only  had  all  the  hob-nailed  shoes  that  had  been 
thrown  at  him.  Another  boy  wonders  what  he'd  do  if  he  had  "  both 
arms  shot  off  and  then  the  gas  alarm  sounded."  And  always  they 
must  be  rowing  about  their  respective  states. 

"Neebraska!  Where's  Neebraska?  Is  that  in  the  United  States 
or  Canada?" 

"Noo  Hampshire!  Huh!  There  ain't  nothin'  but  mountains 
there.  Why^my  old  man  told  me  that  when  they  let  the  cows  out 
to  grass  there  they  had  to  put  stilts  on  one  side  of  'em  so  they  won't 
fall  off'n  the  pasture." 

Then  they  turn  on  me. 

"Boston!  When  you  get  ten  miles  from  Boston  you  can  smell 
the  beans  bakin'." 

"But  I  don't  come  from  Boston,"  I  protest. 

"Well  there  ain't  nothin'  much  in  Massachusetts  outsider  Bos- 


62  GONCOURT 

ton.  Why  the  state  of  Noo  Hampshire  is  goin*  to  rent  the  rest  o' 
Massachusetts  for  a  duck-yard." 

And  so  it  goes. 

"Gee!  but  it's  good  to  get  into  one  shop  where  you  don't  have 
to  talk  frog  talk!"  exclaimed  one  lad  tonight. 

"I've  just  heard  the  greatest  compliment  for  you,"  another  lad 
declares  solemnly,  "  the  greatest  compliment  that  could  possibly 
be  paid  any  woman." 

"Why,  what  was  it?" 

"I  just  heard  a  feller  say;  *My!  don't  she  look  different  from  the 
French  girls!'" 

A  flushed-faced  lad  leans  over  my  end  of  the  counter; 

"You  know  to  talk  to  an  American  girl  like  this  again,  it's  Uke, 
it'sUke— " 

Again  and  again  he  tries  only  to  become  helplessly  inarticulate. 
Then  pulling  a  large  bunch  of  letters  "from  lady  friends"  from 
his  pocket,  nothing  will  do  but  he  must  tell  me  about  each  one. 
Finally  in  a  fit  of  prodigal  generosity  he  bestows  a  handful  on  me, 
"Because  I'm  an  American  and  you're  one  too."  As  he  makes  the 
presentation  something  falls  to  the  floor  with  a  little  click.  We 
search  among  the  Utter  on  the  floor,  the  lad  on  all  fours;  finally 
the  lost  is  found, — a  broken  bit  of  comb  about  two  inches  and  a 
quarter  long.  This  is  a  happy  chance,  he  explains,  for  he  is  com- 
pany barber  and  with  the  company  comb  gone  E  Company  would 
be  out  of  luck. 

Always  our  presence  here  is  something  that  seems  so  strange 
to  them  as  to  be  almost  incredible. 

"Will  you  please  tell  me,"  asked  a  serious-looking  lad  tonight, 
''what  consideration  could  possibly  induce  two  American  girls 
to  come  to  a  place  like  this?" 

Continually  I  am  encountering  boys  who  are  sure  that  they've 
"seen  me  somewhere." 

"  Say,  didn't  you  use  to  Hve  in  Milwaukee?  " 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  in  Seattle?  Well,  if  it  wam't  you,  it  was 
somebody  that  looked  just  like  you!" 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  63 

I  suppose  it  is  simply  because  I  look  American  that  I  look 
familiar  to  them.  But  the  facts  in  the  case  seem  to  be  that  I  have 
been  observed  by  some  member  of  the  A.  E.  F.  in  practically  every 
one  of  the  large  cities  of  the  U.  S.  A.  One  boy  nearly  started  a 
fight  in  camp  the  other  night  by  declaring  that  in  spite  of  the  evi- 
dence of  my  nose  he  knew  I  was  of  Hebraic  origin.  He  had  seen 
me,  he  solemnly  insisted,  "goin'  with  a  Jew  feller  in  Philadelphia." 

Undoubtedly  it  is  because  they  have  so  little  to  think  about  in 
these  drab  days  that  they  are  so  pathetically  curious.  Every  little 
thing  you  say  or  do  is  repeated,  discussed  all  over  camp.  Sometimes 
curiosity  gets  hold  of  one  of  the  bolder  spirits  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  ventures  the  question; 

"How  much  do  you  get  paid  for  smiling  at  the  soldiers?" 

And  when  they  learn  that  you  are  a  volunteer  and  are  paying 
for  the  privilege  of  being  there,  their  amazement  is  so  blank  as  to 
be  positively  ludicrous. 

GoNCouRT,  February  13. 

One  of  the  nicest  things  about  Goncourt  is  our  mess.  This  we 
have  at  the  House  Across  the  Street,  which  is  next  to  the  House 
of  the  Madonna.  We  mess  en  famille  with  the  family  Peirut,  the 
Gendarme,  Mr.  K.  and  I,  and  we  eat  the  family  fare  which  con- 
sists chiefly  of  soup,  boiled  meat  and  carrots,  supplemented  by 
various  additions  such  as  sugar,  cocoa,  jam  and  canned  com  from 
the  commissary.  I  can  never  quite  decide  which  is  quainter,  the 
family  or  the  setting. 

In  America  we  have  the  phrase  living-room^  in  France  they  have 
it.  In  this  one  high-ceilinged  room  the  daily  life  of  the  family 
is  complete.  Here  is  the  kitchen  stove  and  the  dinner  table,  here 
are  the  beds  of  Madame  and  Monsieur,  Madame's  in  one  corner 
hung  with  dim  flowered  chintz.  Monsieur's  in  another  brave  with 
a  beautiful  old  red  India  shawl.  Here  is  the  broad  stone  sink  under 
the  window,  with  the  drain  running  out  into  the  street,  where  the 
family  makes  its  morning  toilet.  Here  are  the  great  dark  armoires 
which  hold  clothing,  china-ware  and  stores  of  all  sorts.    Here  is 


64  GONCOURT 

the  littered  desk  where  the  family  correspondence  is  carried  on; 
and  here  is  the  larder,  a  huge  slab  of  pork  and  a  ham  hanging  from 
the  beams  over  one's  head,  while  on  a  stick  in  front  of  the  fireplace 
a  row  of  little  fishes  hang  by  their  tails  in  dumb  expectation  of  a 
Friday.  And  here  too  is  the  family  shrine,  a  little  wooden  Madonna 
in  red  and  blue,  found  as  Madame  tells  us  in  the  ancient  city  of 
La  Mothe,  which,  destroyed  in  1645,  i^^w  exists  as  a  wonderful 
ruin  crowning  a  hill  some  two  miles  to  the  west. 

If  the  stove-wood  is  found  lacking  at  meal-time,  Monsieur  rises 
from  his  chair  and  saws  an  armful  beside  the  dinner-table.  If 
Madame  decides  while  we  are  eating  our  soup  that  a  piece  of  ham 
will  improve  the  menu  she  stands  upon  her  chair  and  cuts  a 
slice  in  the  air  over  our  heads.  On  wash  days  one  picks  one's  way 
to  the  table  past  the  pails  which  hold  the  family  linen  in  soak, 
and  later  eats  one's  soupe  d,  pain  under  a  brave  array  of  drying 
garments  slung  from  wall  to  wall. 

The  family,  which  consists  of  Monsieur,  Madame  and  Mademoi- 
elle,  the  two  sons  being  in  service,  are  the  most  hospitable  souls 
alive.  Continually  they  urge,  "Mangez,  mangez!"  and  then, 
"Vous  ttes  Hmidel"  Their  feelings  are  dreadfully  hurt  if  each 
one  of  us  refuses  to  eat  enough  for  two.  They  seem  somehow  to 
have  acquired  the  idea  that  Americans  need  a  vast  deal  of  sweeten- 
ing, so  they  offer  you  sugar,  commissary  sugar,  with  everything, 
and  they  are  gently  but  definitely  disappointed  when  you  decline 
to  heap  it  on  your  mashed  potato. 

Mile.  Jeane,  clear-skinned,  bright-eyed,  capable,  energetic  yet 
possessed  of  a  warm  charm  withal,  is  forewoman  of  the  little  glove 
factory  in  town. 

"Are  there  many  employees?"  I  asked. 

"But  no.  Eight  only.  Since  the  Americans  came  to  town  all 
the  women  have  deserted  the  factory  in  order  to  wash  the  Ameri- 
cans' clothes." 

Monsieur,  it  appears,  is  a  wood-cutter  by  profession.  He  comes 
home  from  a  hard  day's  chopping  looking  like  a  genus  of  the  woods 
himself  with  his  worn  brown  velour  suit,  his  wrinkled  brown  skin 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  65 

and  his  ragged  brown  beard  which  resembles  exactly  those  bundles 
of  fine  twigs  w^hich  the  French  burn  in  their  fireplaces.  When 
Monsieur  was  ten  years  old  the  Germans  occupied  the  town  and 
sixteen  of  them  slept  in  this  very  room.  They  were  perfect  pigs, 
he  says,  and  ate  everything  they  could  lay  their  hands  on;  "But,'* 
he  adds,  "they  didn't  like  our  bread!" 

Sunday  mornings  all  the  men  in  town,  including  the  Man  With 
One  Leg,  and  all  the  dogs  start  off  together,  the  men  armed  with 
guns  and  each  carrying  a  musette  bag  or  knapsack.  Papa  puts  on 
his  shooting  coat  with  the  fancy  buttons  each  depicting  a  different 
bird  or  beast  of  the  chase,  takes  down  his  old  shot-gun  from  the  wall, 
and  joins  them.  At  dusk  they  come  back  again,  empty-handed, 
but  seemingly  well  content.  Their  modus  operandi^  I  gather,  is  to 
proceed  to  a  comfortable  spot  in  the  woods,  then  all  sit  down, 
drink  vin  rouge  and  wait  for  the  game.  Indeed  one  doughboy 
declares,  that  passing  by  one  of  those  open  alleys  which  intersect 
the  forests  here,  he  once  saw  an  old  Frenchman  standing  with  his 
gun  in  a  drizzling  rain,  patiently  waiting  for  a  shot  while  by  his 
side  stood  another  "old  frog  "  holding  an  umbrella  over  him. 

GoNCouRT,  February  14. 

The  woman  who  lives  in  the  House  of  the  Madonna  is  an  im- 
conscionable  old  scalawag.  Not  that  you  would  ever  suspect  it 
to  look  at  her,  for  with  her  round  rosy  face,  her  smooth  parted  hair 
and  her  comfortably  rotund  figure  she  resembles  nothing  so  much 
as  somebody's  genial  and  respected  grandmother.  Yet  the  facts  in 
the  case  remain.  She  sells  doped  wine  to  the  soldiers  at  ruinous 
prices  and  she  sells  at  forbidden  hours.  Moreover  we  have  reason 
to  suspect  that  at  odd  times  she  carries  on  an  utterly  illicit  com- 
merce. According  to  our  hostess,  when  the  time  from  the  last  pay 
day  grows  too  long,  certain  soldiers  are  not  above  smuggUng  in 
their  extra  shoes  and  shirts  to  her,  and  she  pays  them  back  in 
drinks. 

This  morning  while  I  was  at  breakfast  she  came  bouncing  in  and 
proceeded  to  fill  the  house  with  lamentations.    Last  night  a  tipsy 


66  GONCOURT 

soldier  had  stolen  the  key  to  her  front  door!  Then  she  delved  into 
history  for  my  benefit,  recounting  how,  some  weeks  before,  two  sol- 
diers, having  sent  her  out  of  the  room  on  an  errand,  had  pro- 
ceeded to  rob  her  till,  the  sum  amounting  to  almost  three  hundred 
francs! 

*^OhI   lis  sont  des  monstres,  des  cochonsi"  she  wailed. 

Whereat  I,  with  some  asperity,  remarked  that  if  the  French 
people  wouldn't  sell  drink  to  the  Americans,  the  soldiers  wouldn't 
become  zig-zag  and  do  such  things.  Immediately  she  became  con- 
ciliatory. Of  course,  everyone  knew  that  there  were  good  people 
and  bad  people  in  every  nation,  but  certainly!  Then  she  changed 
the  subject  abruptly,  demanding;  why,  why  in  the  name  of  common 
sense  did  I  do  anything  so  contrary  to  all  the  dictates  of  reason 
as  to  sleep  with  my  window  open? 

Last  night,  as  Mr.  K.  and  I  were  coming  home  from  the  canteen, 
the  door  of  the  cafe  opposite  was  suddenly  opened  and  a  man's  fig- 
ure appeared,  half  pushed,  half  thrown  outside.  The  door  slammed 
shut, — it  was  long  after  closing  hour  for  the  cafe, — the  figure  fell 
like  a  log  to  the  ground.  We  watched  a  minute  to  see  the  fellow 
pick  himself  up,  but  he  lay  motionless.  It  was  a  freezing  night. 
Mr.  K.  went  over  to  investigate.   The  man  was  in  a  drunken  stupor. 

"You  go  along,"  he  called  to  me,  "I've  got  to  get  this  fellow 
home." 

I  left  reluctantly.  Subsequently  Mr.  K.  told  me  the  night's  his- 
tory. After  considerable  coaxing,  he  had  finally  succeeded  in  ex- 
tracting the  information  that  the  boy  belonged  to  F  Company. 
So  to  F  Company  barracks,  a  good  half-mile  north  of  the  canteen, 
they  had  proceeded,  Mr.  K.  half  dragging,  half  carrying  the  fellow 
who  was  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  he,  and  broad  to  boot. 

When  they  had  nearly  reached  their  journey's  end,  Mr.  K.  by 
this  time  fairly  in  a  state  of  collapse,  his  burden  suddenly  baulked. 
The  barracks  evidently  didn't  look  like  home  to  him.  Mr.  K.  began 
to  have  a  sickening  sense  of  something  gone  wrong.  At  last  the 
wretch  drowsily  recalled  the  fact  that  he  didn't  belong  to  F  Com- 
pany at  all,  but  to  I  Company  far  on  the  other  side  of  town.    So 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  67 

around  they  turned  and  back  through  town  they  crawled  until 
finally  they  arrived  at  I  Company's  abiding-place;  and  this  time 
the  dereUct  was  satisfied. 

Indeed  a  walk  home  from  the  canteen  at  night  with  Mr.  K.  at 
any  time  is  likely  to  prove  an  adventure.  For  should  we  meet  a 
boy  who  has  had  more  than  is  "good  for  him"  and  is  in  an  irritable 
mood,  we  must  stop  and  talk  with  him,  in  order,  as  Mr.  K  's  theory 
puts  it,  to  divert  his  mind.  "  Get  them  thinking  about  something 
else,"  is  his  slogan.  The  other  night  we  stood  out  in  the  sleety 
drizzle  until  my  feet  fairly  froze  solid  into  the  freezing  mud,  carry- 
ing on  polite  conversations  with  two  boys  who  had  just  been  put 
out  of  the  House  of  the  Madonna  and  were  in  a  state  of  mind  to 
wreck  the  town.  One  of  them  Mr.  K.  got  started  on  the  subject 
of  taking  French  lessons.  He  was  ambitious  to  study  French  he 
explained  and  would  Mr.  K.  kindly  arrange  for  a  teacher  and  a 
course  of  lessons?  I  listened  with  one  ear;  here  was  the  first  man  I 
had  found  in  France  who  expressed  an  earnest  desire  to  learn  French 
and  he  was  tipsy!  The  other  one,  evidently  ashamed,  explained  to 
me  at  length  how  he  hadn't  wanted  to  get  drunk,  the  trouble  was 
that  he  was  just  naturally  "dishgushted  with  this  country,  just 
dishgushted."  And  that  it  seems  to  me  is  the  whole  thing  in  two 
words.  The  boys  are  "just  dishgushted."  Considering  it  all,  who 
can  blame  them? 

GoNCOURT,  February  15. 

The  M.  P.s  who  live  in  the  second  story  of  the  Guard-House 
are  my  good  friends.  They  help  sweep  out  the  hut  often  in  the 
mornings  and  when  they  make  taffy  in  their  mess  kits  they  bring 
me  some.  These  M.  P.s  are  in  reality  cavalrymen  detached  from 
their  regiment  for  the  time  being  in  order  to  do  police  duty.  As 
far  as  I  can  see,  there  seems  to  be  no  special  hard  feeling  between 
them  and  the  doughboys. 

One  sUm  young  M.  P.  in  particular  is  a  crony  of  mine.  He  keeps 
me  informed  as  to  the  gossip  of  the  town.  He  tells  me  how  the 
French  women  who  run  cafes,  our  neighbor  of  the  House  of  the 


68  GONCOURT 

Madonna  among  them,  seek  to  curry  favor  with  the  law  in  Gon- 
court,  by  bringing  him  out  coffee  and  sandwiches  as  he  walks  his 
beat  in  the  middle  of  the  night;  and  how,  the  other  night  after 
closing  hour,  he  put  his  head  inside  the  door  of  one  of  these  cafes 
to  be  greeted  by  a  frantic  shriek  of  "Feenish!  Feenishf^'  from  the 
hostess,  only  to  find,  when  he  insisted  on  entering,  a  crowd  of  dough- 
boys making  merry  in  the  back-room;  how  he  took  their  names  and 
then  was  inspired  to  look  at  their  "dog  tags"  in  confirmation  and 
found  that  not  one  of  the  names  agreed!  He  tells  me  about  the 
cross  old  Frenchman  whose  beehives  have  been  stealthily,  inexpli- 
cably, disappearing  one  by  one,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  French- 
man had  tied  his  unfortunate  and  much  suffering  dog  underneath 
the  hives  to  guard  them;  until  now  the  old  gentleman  had  taken  to 
sitting  up  nights  with  a  shot-gun  in  order  to  watch  the  remaining 
ones.  "He's  a  kind  o'  snoopy  old  man  and  nobody  likes  him.  I 
reckon  the  boys  are  taking  his  beehives  just  to  spite  him."  He 
tells  me  about  the  old  lady  who  wants  to  marry  him  to  her  daughter; 
but  chiefly  he  tells  me, — under  the  strictest  oath  of  secrecy, —  the 
latest  development  in  the  case  of  the  old  woman  whom  he  suspects 
of  being  a  spy.  I  advise  him  to  hand  the  matter  over  to  the  In- 
telligence Officer,  but  no,  he  must  have  the  honor  of  catching  her 
red-handed  himself.  It's  quite  like  reading  a  detective  story  in  in- 
stallments. 

The  other  night  while  I  was  talking  to  one  of  the  M.  P.s  in  the 
canteen,  we  heard  a  shot  up  the  street.  The  next  moment  another 
M.  P.  appeared  at  the  door.  After  the  exchange  of  a  few  whispered 
words,  the  two  of  them  ran  out  of  the  hut,  and  as  they  went,  I  saw. 
them  both  draw  their  revolvers.  Fifteen  minutes  later  the  dough- 
boys coming  into  the  canteen  brought  a  ghastly  tale.  There  had 
been  a  fight  between  the  M.  P.s  and  the  soldiers.  The  M.  P.s  had 
shot  and  killed  two.  "Yes,  so-help-me-God,  it's  the  truth!"  The 
narrator  had  himseK  seen  the  two  slain  doughboys  lying  in  the 
street;  one  had  been  shot  through  the  head,  the  other  through  the 
heart.  So  the  story  went  around.  We  went  to  bed  that  night  with 
a  dull  sense  of  horror  hanging  over  us. 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  69 

The  next  morning  I  confronted  my  friend  the  M.  P.  with  the 
story.  Then  I  learned  the  true  version.  He  had  been  on  his  beat 
not  far  from  the  church,  when  down  a  dark  alley  he  had  heard 
sounds  of  a  tremendous  fracas.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  didn't 
have  his  stick  with  him  he  had  plunged  down  the  alley  to  come 
upon  "a  bunch  of  wops  beating  each  other  over  the  head  with 
beer  bottles."  When  they  caught  sight  of  the  M.  P.  they  had 
quickly  abandoned  their  family  disagreement  in  order  to  turn  upon 
the  intruder.  He  had  shot  his  revolver  into  the  air  and  this  had 
been  enough  to  frighten  them  into  taking  to  their  heels.  The  two 
fellows  who  had  been  seen  lying  on  the  ground  were  the  casualties 
resulting  from  the  bottle-fight:  they  had  been  stunned  and  gashed 
so  badly  as  to  bleed  a  good  deal,  but  were  later  patched  up  with 
complete  success  at  the  hospital. 

Indeed  life  at  Goncourt  is  seldom  unrelieved  by  incident.  Last 
night  I  was  sitting  by  our  open  window  reading — the  Gendarme 
was  out — after  my  return  from  the  hut,  when  I  heard  an  angry 
voice  snarl  something  abusive  directly  beneath  me;  a  moment  later 
a  fusillade  began.  I  jumped  for  the  candle,  blew  it  out,  then  stood 
close  against  the  wall.  After  a  minute  the  shots  ceased;  immedi- 
ately excited  people  began  to  pour  into  the  street.  I  heard  the 
M.  P.s  pounding  on  the  door  of  the  House  Across  the  Way,  de- 
manding information;  I  leaned  from  the  window  and  told  them 
what  I  knew.  All  the  French  people  in  the  neighborhood  stood  out 
in  the  street  and  chattered  excitedly  for  hours  afterward  it  seemed. 
This  morning  Madame  told  us  what  had  happened.  In  the  house 
next  door  lives  a  tall  and  handsome  girl.  A  sergeant  suitor  of  hers, 
crazy  with  jealousy  and  cognac,  had  shot  wildly  at  a  rival  entering 
her  door,  emptying  his  automatic,  fortunately  without  effect. 

Goncourt,  February  16. 
Twice  a  week  each  one  of  us  goes  to  pay  a  visit  at  the  local  hos- 
pital.   This  is  a  depressing  place — two  large  dingy  rooms  in  what 
was  once,  to  judge  from  the  inscription  over  the  door,  some  sort 
of  ecclesiastical  school.    We  take  the  boys  magazines  and  news- 


70  GONCOURT 

papers,  oranges  and  jam.  This  week  I  had  a  new  idea.  I  would 
read  aloud  to  them.  In  the  Bourmont  warehouse  I  came  across 
a  volume  of  W.  W.  Jacobs'  short  stories.  Here  was  just  the  thing, 
I  thought,  such  simple  slap-stick  humour  must  appeal  to  the  most 
unsophisticated  understanding. 

I  hurried  to  the  hospital  with  my  prize.  The  orderiies,  not  ex- 
pecting a  lady  visitor,  were  in  the  midst  of  a  Black  Jack  game.  Red 
and  flustered,  one  lad  tried  to  hide  the  Uttle  heaps  of  money  on 
the  floor  by  standing  on  them;  I  pretended  not  to  see.  Yes,  they 
thought  it  would  be  all  right  if  I  should  read  to  the  patients.  They 
went  ahead  to  the  ward  to  announce  me.  All  the  cots  were  full, 
making  sixteen  invalids  in  all.  I  selected  a  story — an  old  favorite, 
I  was  sure  it  would  prove  irresistible — and  started  to  read.  The 
story  tells  of  an  eccentric  skipper  with  a  fad  for  doctoring.  One 
by  one,  his  crew,  realizing  his  weakness,  develop  mysterious  mala- 
dies. They  are  excused  from  duty,  put  to  bed,  petted  and  cossetted. 
Finally  the  mate  becomes  desperate.  He  guarantees  that  he  will 
cure  them  all;  the  skipper  is  sceptical  but  allows  him  a  free  hand. 
The  mate  sets  to  work  to  compound  some  "medicine,"  a  wonder- 
ful and  fearful  brew  made  of  ink,  vinegar,  kerosene  and  bilge-water. 
After  a  few  doses,  presto!  the  crew  is  hale  and  hearty  once  again. 

I  read  with  all  the  animation  I  could  muster,  and  to  me  the  story 
had  never  appeared  funnier,  but  try  my  hardest,  I  couldn't  seem 
to  "get  it  over."  Not  a  chuckle,  not  a  grin  lightened  my  solemn 
audience.  They  were  utterly,  blankly,  unresponsive.  I  began 
to  wonder  if  it  were  possible  that  not  one  of  them  could  understand 
English.  At  last  I  ended.  As  I  closed  the  book  a  whoop  of  de- 
light went  up  from  the  orderlies; 

"That's  you  all  over,  Johnny!" 

"Gee,  that  guy  must  have  wrote  that  story  about  you.  Slim." 

"  Say,  Miss,  can't  you  let  us  have  the  recipe  for  that  medicine? 
We  need  it  in  our  business." 

The  invalids  grinned  sulkily.  In  one  awful  moment  I  realized 
what  I  had  done. 

"Of  course,"  I  stammered,  "this  wasn't  meant  to  have  any  per- 


THE  DOUGHBOY  71 

sonal  application!'*  But  the  mischief  was  already  done.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  retire  with  dignity. 

However,  I  couldn't  bear  to  give  up  my  scheme  entirely.  Today 
I  went  again;  this  time  having  carefully  selected  my  story.  To 
my  astonishment  the  ward  proved  empty,  all  except  for  three  boys 
who  were  crouching  on  the  floor  shooting  craps;  I  drew  back. 

"Perhaps  they  would  rather  not  be  disturbed." 

"They  ought  to  be  in  bed  anyway,"  growled  the  orderly,  and 
chased  the  patients  back  to  their  cots. 

I  read  to  them;  there  was  no  way  out  of  it.  They  listened  politely 
to  the  end,  but  all  the  while  I  felt  they  were  longing  to  resume  their 
interrupted  game.  Tonight  I  expressed  my  surprise  over  the  de- 
serted ward  to  Captain  X.    He  roared  at  my  innocence. 

"You  didn't  expect  to  find  any  fellows  in  hospital  today  did  you? 
Why,  this  is  Saturday,  and  there  isn't  any  drill  tomorrow!" 

GoNCOURT,  February  18. 

Every  day  we  must  go  to  see  how  the  new  hut  is  progressing. 
This  involves  wading  through  a  wilderness  of  mud.  I  had  thought 
that  Bourmont  had  taught  me  everything  that  one  could  learn 
about  French  mud  this  side  of  the  trenches,  but  Goncourt  has 
shown  me  that  it  has  possibilities  hitherto  undreamed. 

The  new  hut  is  on  the  far  edge  of  the  town,  on  the  east  bank  of 
the  Meuse.  Near  it  are  grouped  the  barracks  of  the  Milk  Bat- 
talion, so  called  not  because,  as  I  first  supposed,  it  is  composed  of 
heavy  drinkers,  but  because  it  is  comprised  of  Companies  I,  K,  L, 
and  M.  These  barracks,  which  were  bequeathed  to  us  by  the 
French,  are,  the  boys  tell  me,  infested  with  vermin.  In  the  mess- 
hall  of  Company  M  we  hold  our  weekly  movie-shows  and  our 
occasional  concerts. 

The  hut,  which  is  very  large,  and  shipped  here  in  sections,  goes 
up  slowly.  Army  details  are  proverbial  in  their  abihty  to  consume 
time.  Then  we  are  constantly  being  held  back  by  shortage  of 
materials;  lumber  and  nails  and  such  things  being  desperately  hard 
to  obtain  in  France  at  present.    Not  long  ago  the  divisional  Con- 


72  GONCOURT 

struction  Man,  who  is  a  young  fellow  with  poor  eyes  and  consider- 
able initiative,  was  driven  to  the  desperate  resort  of  appropriating 
French  Army  lumber.  For  a  while  all  went  well,  then  the  thefts 
grew  too  bold,  and  the  Construction  Man  was  summoned  before 
the  French  colonel  in  command.  As  the  colonel  knew  English, 
and  so  could  not  be  put  off  by  any  "no  compris"  bluff,  the  Construc- 
tion Man  had  a  pretty  bad  quarter  hour  of  it,  but  in  the  end  was 
let  off  with  a  warning. 

The  window  frames  of  the  hut  are  to  be  filled  in  with  viteXf  a 
curious  glass  substitute,  which  looks  like  a  thin  celluloid  glaze  over 
very  fine  meshed  wire.  It  is  only  slightly  transparent,  rather  fragile 
and  very  costly  but  it  does  admit  the  light,  in  this  respect  being 
far  better  than  the  oiled  cloth  in  use  in  most  barracks.  When  the 
vitex  is  cut  to  fit  the  frames,  many  odd  scraps  are  left  over  and  these 
I  have  been  distributing  among  the  boys  so  they  can  substitute 
them  for  the  old  newspapers  or  sacking  now  in  vogue  for  billet 
windows. 

If  they  only  could  hurry  up  that  hut! 

"You  wait  and  see,"  say  the  boys;  "  just  as  soon  as  that  hut  is 
finished  we'll  be  moving.  That's  always  the  way  with  this  regiment. 
Sure  as  you  live,  when  that  hut's  done,  we'll  be  off  for  the  front.'* 

And  it  begins  to  look  as  if  this  might  come  true. 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  I  asked  Mr  K.  today. 

"There's  no  telling,"  he  replied.  "Perhaps.  But  anyway  the 
boys  will  know  we  did  our  best." 

Meanwhile  the  state  of  the  men  is  worse  than  ever.  An  order  has 
been  issued  in  Goncourt  that  no  soldier  may  enter  a  civilian  house 
without  a  special  permit.  The  reason  given  is  that  certain  of  the 
townspeople  have  been  illegally  selling  the  men  strong  drink.  The 
soldiers,  however,  declare  bitterly  that  the  real  reason  is  that  the 
officers  wish  to  have  a  clear  field  with  the  village  damsels. 

Goncourt,  February  21. 
We  have  had  our  first  taste  of  the  trenches;  these  are  not  real 
trenches  to  be  sure  but  simply  practice  trenches  which  lie  on  the 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  73 

hilly  uplands  west  of  Goncourt.  For  two  days  we  have  been  in  a 
tumult  with  a  dress  rehearsal  of  manoeuvers  at  the  front.  The 
whole  brigade  in  battle  array  has  passed  under  our  window. 
Colonels  and  soup-kitchens,  mules  and  majors,  supply  trains,  am- 
bulances, machine-guns,  everything.  Yesterday  as  Company  F 
was  starting  on  its  hike  to  the  trenches,  word  came  that  the  mules 
who  pulled  their  field-kitchen  were  indisposed.  Company  F  had 
no  mind  to  eat  corn-willy  and  hard  bread  for  dinner.  They  seized 
the  soup  wagon  and  pulled  it  by  hand,  all  the  way  up  the  hills. 
Meeting  their  major  on  the  way,  they  shouted  in  unison;  "The 
mules  went  on  sick  report  and  got  marked  quarters.  We  went 
on  sick  report  and  they  marked  us  duty."  But  they  got  their 
dinner  hot. 

Tonight  I  heard  the  sad  tale  of  Mr.  B.  the  new  secretary  at 
Saint  Thiebault.  Company  A  had  marched  off  to  spend  the  day  in 
the  trenches.  Mr.  B.  had  an  inspiration;  he  filled  a  large  suit-case 
full  of  chocolate  and  cigarettes:  hailed  a  passing  ambulance  and 
set  out  to  carry  first  aid  to  Company  A  in  its  ordeal  in  the  trenches. 
Unluckily  neither  Mr.  B.  nor  the  driver  knew  just  where  the  field 
of  operations  lay.  Two  miles  north  of  Goncourt  Mr.  B.  got  out 
and  started  to  "cut  across  lots."  It  was  raining;  he  waded  through 
swamps,  he  scratched  through  thickets,  he  wallowed  in  ploughed 
fields,  with  that  suit  case  which  must  have  weighed  a  good  eighty 
pounds  growing  heavier  at  every  step.  There  being  no  sun  to 
guide  him,  he  got  lost  and  wandered  about  in  circles.  Finally, 
after  several  hours,  he  arrived  in  a  state  of  collapse  at  the  field 
of  manoeuveurs.  Then  instead  of  A  Company  he  encountered  an- 
other company,  a  perfectly  strange  company;  they  demanded 
chocolate  and  he  didn't  have  the  heart  to  deny  them.  After  the 
last  cake  of  chocolate  and  the  last  package  of  cigarettes  had  dis- 
appeared an  ofiicer  came  up,  an  officer  from  still  another  company, 
and  proceeded  to  tell  Mr.  B.  in  very  plain  language  what  he  thought 
of  him  for  leaving  his  men  out.  And  when  that  officer  had  done 
with  Mr.  B.  an  officer  from  the  company  which  had  been  fed  came 
up  in  an  awful  temper  and  "bawled  out"  Mr.  B.  because  forsooth 


74  GONCOURT 

his  men  had  made  such  a  mess,  throwing  away  the  chocolate  wrap- 
pers that  when  the  others  left,  his  company  would  have  to  stay 
behind  to  *'poUce  up"  the  trenches! 

Poor  Mr.  B !    My  heart  goes  out  to  him. 

This  evening  as  we  were  about  to  close  the  canteen,  my  friend, 
the  mule-skinner  from  Texas  appeared  in  the  hut.  He  had  a  sort 
of  a  weak-in-the-knees  expression  on  his  face. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Met  the  Old  Man,"  he  answered  ruefully,— the  '  'Old  Man" 
is  the  general  in  command  of  the  division — "Gee!  but  he  sure  did 
give  me  some  bawlin'  out!" 

"But  why?" 

He  explained  that  his  sergeant  had  misunderstood  orders  and 
told  him  to  go  out  in  his  usual  rig.  The  general,  encountering  the 
mule-skinner  without  his  proper  war-paint,  had  expressed  his  mind 
to  him  on  the  matter. 

"Jumpin'  Jupiter!  but  the  langwidge  that  that  old  bird  used! 
I  sure  will  hand  it  to  him!  Why,  my  ears  ain't  done  burnin'  yet!" 
And  he  shook  his  hdiad  like  a  man  half  dazed. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

The  mule-skinner  grew  red  as  a  beet,  stared  at  me  horrified. 

"I  couldn't  repeat  it,  ma'am !  I  couldn't  repeat  nary  word  of  it ! " 

That  a  general  should  so  scandalize  a  mule-skinner,  and  a  Texas 
mule-skinner  at  that,  by  his  address,  was  so  intriguing  to  my  fancy 
that  I  laughed  all  the  way  home. 

We  have  a  new  colonel;  he  has  declared  that  the  regiment  is 
not  fit  for  the  front,  and  so  has  laid  out  a  two  weeks'  programme 
of  gruelling  hikes  and  intensive  training,  in  order  at  the  eleventh 
hour  to  try  to  jack  us  up  to  standard. 

The  Gendarme  leaves  tomorrow  to  go  en  permission. 

GoNCOURT,  February  25. 
If  I  were  God  I  would  lay  a  blight  on  every  grape-vine  in  France; 
then  I  would  sink  every  still,  wine  press,  distillery  and  brewery  to 
the  bottom  of  the  sea. 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  75 

We  have  had  pay-day.  It  happened  Friday.  The  total  results 
didn't  make  themselves  evident  immediately;  it  was  instead  a 
cumulative  effect,  a  crescendo,  beginning  Friday  and  reaching  its 
climax  yesterday.  On  these  three  days,  out  of  the  twenty-five 
hundred  men  stationed  here,  twenty-four  hundred  and  ninety- three, 
I  could  take  my  oath,  have  come  into  the  canteen  and  leaned  over 
the  counter,  drunk; — that  is  to  say,  visibly  and  undeniably  under 
the  influence  of  Hquor.  When  a  lad,  as  some  half  dozen  did, — 
those  composing  the  regular  attendance  in  the  group  about  the 
fire, — came  into  the  canteen  entirely  and  unmistakably  sober,  one 
welcomed  him  as  a  drowning  man  does  a  spar.  For  a  moment  one 
had  come  in  touch  with  something  stable  in  a  reeling  world. 

Out  of  a  company  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  last  night  ninety  were 
capable  of  standing  Retreat. 

I  have  learned  to  gauge  the  stages.  When  a  man  looks  you 
squarely  in  the  eye  and  declares  vociferously,  "Never  took  a  drink 
in  all  my  life!"  he  is  very  drunk  indeed.  And  there  is  always  some- 
one nearby  to  wink  and  comment;  "He  must  have  joined  the  gang 
that  pours  it  down  with  a  funnel." 

Saturday  night  a  very  red-faced  lad  came  up  to  the  counter 
and  insisted  on  conversing;  from  each  pocket  in  his  rain-coat  pro- 
truded a  long-necked  bottle.    I  stood  it  for  a  few  minutes,  then: 

"Please,'  I  said,  "won't  you  take  those  bottles  out  of  here? 
I  just  hate  to  see  them." 

"Bottles!"  he  expostulated.    "  What  do  you  mean,  bottles!^* 

"I  mean  just  those."  I  pointed. 

"Why  I  ain't  got  a  bottle  on  me!"  he  burst  out  indignantly, 
fairly  glaring  at  me.  Seeing  it  was  hopeless,  I  edged  away  toward 
the  other  end  of  the  counter,  leaving  him  standing  there,  a  perfect 
picture  of  outraged  and  insulted  virtue,  with  those  bottles  bristling 
all  over  him. 

The  whole  town  is  pervaded  by  a  warm  glow  of  geniality.  Boys 
that  used  to  nod  shyly  in  answer  to  your  "  Good  morning"  now  lean 
from  their  loft  windows  as  you  pass  to  call  a  greeting.  Last  night, 
my  friend  the  M.  P.  tells  me,  he  heard  a  racket  in  one  of  the  sheep- 


76  GONCOURT 

folds  up  on  our  street.  Going  to  investigate  he  met  a  "bunch  o* 
drunken  wops"  coming  out  of  the  door,  every  man  of  them  carry- 
ing a  struggling  sheep  under  each  arm.  He  shouted  at  them;  they 
dropped  the  sheep  and  fled. 

The  French  find  it  all  vastly  amusing.  ^^Beauoup  zig  zag"  they 
cry.    It  means,  I  suppose,  riches  for  them. 

And  yet  in  all  this  orgy  I  have  not  yet  encountered  a  single  word 
of  disrespect,  nor  heard  one  objectionable  expression  uttered.  Last 
night  I  caught  an  angry  splutter  from  the  crowd  in  front  of  the 
counter.  One  boy,  evidently  a  shade  less  tipsy,  had  admonished 
another  boy  apparently  a  shade  more  so,  to  be  careful  of  his  lan- 
guage out  of  respect  for  me.  "Whu'd 'you  think?  D 'you  think 
I  ain't  got  sense  enough  to  know  how  to  talk  when  there's  an  Ameri- 
can lady  present?  "  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  there  might  be  a 
fight. 

Meanwhile  the  guard-house,  the  real  guard-house,  is  so  crowded 
that  they  have  had  to  put  duck-boards  across  the  rafters  for  the 
prisoners  to  sleep  on. 

From  a  nearby  town  where  part  of  another  regiment  is  stationed 
come  even  more  startUng  stories.  Certain  oflSicers  there  went  so 
wild  that  they  started  to  blow  up  the  town  with  hand  grenades. 
And  one  of  them  coming  into  the  Y.  held  up  the  secretary  at  the 
point  of  his  pistol  until  he  sold  him — instead  of  the  ordinary 
allowance  of  one  or  two  packages — several  cartons  of  his  favorite 
brand  of  cigarettes. 

The  new  colonel  is  said  to  be  horrified.  But  what  could  he  ex- 
pect? Take  an  odd  lot  of  twenty-five  hundred  boys,  remove  them 
from  every  decent  restraining  influence,  hike  them  all  day  through 
the  interminable  mud  and  rain  until  they  drop  by  the  roadside, 
bring  them  back  at  night  to  dark,  cold,  damp,  filthy,  vermin-ridden 
lofts  and  stables,  add  the  nerve  strain  of  the  imminent  prospect 
of  their  first  time  at  the  front,  close  every  door  to  them  except  the 
door  of  the  cafe,  give  them  money; — ^what  could  anyone  expect? 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  77 

GoNCOURT,  February  27. 

My  friend  Pat  is  in  the  hospital;  not  the  local  hospital,  but 
Base  18  situated  at  Bazoilles,  some  six  miles  to  the  north  of  Gon- 
court.  This  afternoon,  having  our  time  free  between  one  and 
four,  Mr.  K  and  I  decided  to  go  to  call  on  him. 

"Are  we  going  to  walk?"  I  asked. 

"Oh  we'll  get  a  lift;  one  always  does." 

But  the  lift  didn't  heave  in  sight  until  we  were  haK  way  there; 
then  it  was  an  ambulance  that  slowed  down  in  answer  to  our 
signals. 

"Give  us  a  ride?'* 

"  Sure,  if  you  aren't  afraid  of  the  mumps." 

I  was,  dreadfully  afraid.  But  Mr.  K.  wasn't,  he  had  already 
had  them,  on  both  sides.  I  hesitated,  then  decided  to  take  a 
chance.    We  rode  into  Bazoilles  in  an  ambulance  full  of  mumps. 

As  for  Pat,  we  hadn't  an  idea  in  what  sort  of  shape  we  might 
find  him.  Once,  Mr.  K.  told  me,  he  had  come  upon  Pat  in  one 
of  his  visits  to  the  Saint  Thiebault  infirmary.  Pat  was  lying  on 
a  cot  with  his  eyes  closed  and  a  sanctified  look  of  patient  suffering 
upon  his  face. 

"Why  what's  wrong  with  you,  Pat?" 

"Ssh!"  Pat  squinted  about  to  see  that  neither  doctor  nor  orderly 
was  within  ear-shot,  then  an  Irish  grin  spread  over  his  impudent 
features.  "Nothin'  at  all,"  he  whispered  joyously,  "just  nothin' 
ataU!" 

But  this  time  we  found  Pat's  ailment  real  enough.  He  was 
in  the  "bone  ward"  with  a  badly  broken  wrist. 

"  How  did  it  happen?"  we  inquired. 

"Sure  an'  it  happened  this  way,"  and  he  told  us  both  the  offi- 
cial and  the  confidential  versions.  Confidentially,  Pat's  wrist 
had  been  broken  by  a  blow  from  an  M.  P.'s  billy  in  an  after-pay- 
day argument  at  Saint  Thiebault.  Officially  it  had  been  broken 
two  days  later  in  the  barracks  by  an  accidental  knock  from  a 
gun-barrel.  Pat  had  hiked  and  drilled  with  a  broken  wrist  for  two 
solid  days  in  order  to  he  able  to  claim  that  he  had  been  disabled  in 


78  GONCOURT 

the  line  of  dutyl  After  the  second  day,  convinced  that  the  en- 
counter with  the  M.  P.  was  suflficiently  a  matter  of  past  history 
to  be  discredited,  Pat  had  reported  at  Sick  Call  with  his  trumped- 
up  tale  and  had  as  usual  gotten  by.  Now  as  he  lay  on  his  cot  he 
was  occupying  himself  by  conjuring  up  visions  of  the  party  to 
which  he  and  his  buddy  were  going  to  treat  that  M.  P.  just  as 
soon  as  he  (Pat)  should  get  his  hospital  discharge. 

As  we  talked  I  noticed  a  lad  who  was  walking  about  the  ward 
with  his  right  hand  done  up  in  bloody  bandages.  He  looked 
self-conscious  and  embarrassed  as  if  he  half  hoped,  half  feared 
to  be  recognized.  I  caught  Pat's  eye,  his  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper. 

"That's  Philip  R.    Don't  you  remember  him?" 

Of  course!  I  smiled  at  Philip,  but  he  turned  away  and  wouldn't 
come  to  speak  to  me.  Mr.  K.  went  over  to  him;  they  talked  for 
a  long  while  in  undertones.  Later  I  heard  the  whole  pitiful  story. 
He  had  been  drinking,  the  terror  that  was  haunting  him  had 
suddenly  gripped.  He  had  taken  his  rifle  and  shot  himself  through 
his  right  hand,  mutilating  it,  in  order  that  he  might  not  be  sent 
to  the  front.  Placed  under  arrest  on  suspicion,  his  nerve  had 
utterly  given  way.  He  had  made  a  full  confession.  It  was  likely 
to  go  hard  with  him. 

While  Mr.  K.  was  listening  to  Philip,  Pat  was  teUing  me  about 
the  regiment  of  southern  negro  engineers  who  had  come  to  Baz- 
oilles  to  help  build  the  new  hospital.  Every  time  there  was  an 
air-raid  alarm,  Pat  declared,  they  knelt  down  and  prayed  by 
companies. 

I  emptied  out  my  musette  bag  onto  Pat's  cot.  Pat  looked  at 
the  oranges,  dates,  chocolates  and  cigarettes  that  we  had  brought, 
then  took  a  squint  along  the  hungry-looking  ward. 

"Well,  I  guess  I'll  get  a  taste,"  he  said. 

He  was  "in  soft"  he  told  us.  The  nurses  let  him  help  serve  the 
meals.  He  had  free  run  of  the  kitchen  and  all  the  milk  that  he 
wanted  to  drink.  Yet  he  was  already  chafing  at  the  restraint 
and  in  his  wicked  head  he  was  scheming  schemes.    Some  day  in 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  79 

the  not-too-distant  future  he  was  going  to  give  the  hospital  guards 
the  sHp,  make  a  night  of  it,  and  paint  "Bazooie"  red. 

Tonight  word  reached  us  that  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  woman  worker 
has  been  killed  in  Paris  in  an  air-raid.  She  was  sick  and  they  had 
sent  her  to  the  Hopital  Claude-Bernard.  This  time  the  bombs 
found  it. 

GoNCouRT,  March  2. 

The  new  hut  is  opened.  Finished  or  unfinished,  we  made  up 
our  minds  that  we  would  open  that  hut  Saturday  night,  and  open 
it  we  did.  The  last  two  days  have  been  fairly  frantic.  Yesterday 
we  washed  up;  today  we  dried  out  and  decorated.  The  cleaning 
was  the  worst  of  it.  The  hut,  as  I  have  hinted,  is  a  sort  of  island 
in  a  sea  of  mud.  Consequently  as  the  building  went  up,  the  floor, 
walls,  counter,  ceiling,  everything  was  splotched,  streaked  and 
plastered  with  dirt.  Thursday  night  as  I  looked  around  the  hut 
my  heart  sank.    The  place  was  a  sight. 

"You  can't  do  anything  about  it,"  they  told  me. 

"But  something  has  got  to  be  done!" 

Friday  morning  arrived  a  detail  of  eight  prisoners  from  the 
guard-house.  They  had  come  to  scrub.  The  guard  in  charge 
took  his  stand,  leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars,  his  loaded  rifle 
in  his  hands;  to  see  .that  no  one  escaped  was  his  only  responsibility, 
the  rest  was  up  to  me.  My  detail  proved  a  sullen,  stubborn  lot, 
slouching,  cursing  under  their  breath,  all  their  self-respect  turned 
to  a  smouldering  rebelKon;  after  the  first  few  minutes  I  saw  just 
how  much  work  left  to  themselves  they  would  be  hkely  to  ac- 
compKsh.  So  I  told  them  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  just  how  things 
stood:  that  we  had  promised  to  open  the  hut  the  next  day,  that  it 
was,  as  they  could  see,  in  a  frightful  mess,  that  I  realized  they 
were  up  against  a  stiff  job,  but  I  did  so  hope  that  we  could  put 
it  through.  Then  I  got  a  pail  and  a  scrubbing-brush  and  went 
out  and  scrubbed  side  by  side  with  them.  It  is  of  course  strictly 
against  the  rules  to  talk  to  prisoners,  but  all  the  while  I  worked 
I  "joUied"  my  "jail-birds"  for  all  my  wits  were  worth.    I  ad- 


8o  GONCOURT 

mired  ecstatically  the  spots  which  they  had  scrubbed,  I  moaned 
in  despair  over  the  unscrubbed  places.  Inside  of  an  hour  the 
prisoners  were  all  grinning  cheerfully  as  they  worked  Uke  beavers. 
When  the  guard  was  looking  the  other  way  I  sneaked  them  cigar- 
ettes. By  night  the  hut  was  very  damp  and  somewhat  streaky, 
but  it  would  pass,  at  least  by  candle-light.  I  didn't  care  though 
my  arms  were  so  lame  I  could  hardly  lift  them,  and  my  hands 
in  ruins. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  said  the  new  Secretary,  "I  never  thought 
it  could  be  done." 

"If  only  nobody  looks  at  the  ceiling!  " 

For  the  ceiling  was  beyond  our  reach,  and  back  and  forth  over 
every  one  of  its  boards  had  tramped  the  hob-nailed  boots  of  the 
A.  E.  F.  and  every  step  had  left  its  muddy  print.  As  I  looked 
I  thought;  if  we  only  had  the  signatures  to  put  beside  each  foot- 
print, what  a  fascinating  autograph  collection  it  would  make! 

Today  we  spent  in  a  mad  tear,  making  the  hut  beautiful  and 
moving  our  effects  over  from  the  "Guard-House."  The  moving 
was  accomplished  by  the  aid  of  the  Wall-Eyed  Boy  and  his  donkey. 
These  are  two  of  Goncourt's  leading  citizens,  the  donkey,  an 
ancient  moth-eaten  beast,  being  particularly  intimately  known 
to  a  certain  group  of  doughboys  who  would  joyfully  murder 
him.  His  stable  is  directly  beneath  the  loft  in  which  they  are 
billeted  and  every  morning,  prompt  as  an  alarm  clock,  at  4  A.  M. 
that  donkey  brays,  and  brays  until  the  soundest  sleeper  is  awak- 
ened. The  Wall-Eyed  Boy's  name  is  Martin,  and  as  a  donkey 
in  France  is  slangily  called  un  Martin,  as  we  call  a  mule  "Maud,'* 
the  two  go  under  the  title  of  Les  Deux  Martins.  When  les  Deux 
Martins  and  I  went  trudging  along  the  muddy  streets  of  Goncourt, 
side  by  side,  with  the  Uttle  tippy  cart  loaded  with  canteen  truck 
bumping  along  behind,  the  M.  P.s  thought  it  a  rare  joke.  "I 
wish  Sister  Susy  could  see  you  now,"  called  one. 

The  last  few  hours  were  spent  frantically  decorating.  Our  color 
scheme  is  red  and  blue.  This  came  about  through  accident  rather 
than  intention.    We  had  a  bolt  of  turkey-red  cotton  bunting  for 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  8i 

curtains,  only  to  discover  that  this  did  not  darken  the  lighted 
windows  sufficiently  to  comply  with  the  now  strictly  enforced 
aeroplane  regulations.  So  I  asked  a  secretary  starting  for  Paris 
to  bring  me  a  bolt  of  black  cambric  in  order  to  make  a  set  of  inner 
supplementary  curtains.  The  secretary  returning,  brought  bright 
blue;  black,  on  account  of  the  demand  for  mourning,  had  proved 
too  expensive.  At  first  I  was  non-plussed,  but  then  discovered  that 
the  bright  red  and  blue  made  rather  a  jolly  combination.  So  each 
one  of  our  many  windows  is  now  giddy  with  red  and  blue  draperies 
and  the  seat  that  runs  all  around  our  writing  room  is  bf'ave  with 
blue  and  red  cushions  (stuffed,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  with 
shavings!)  Between  each  two  windows  is  tacked  one  of  my  stun- 
ning big  French  war  posters,  the  long  counter  is  covered  with  red- 
checked  oil-cloth,  a  bouquet  of  flags  flies  from  the  proscenium  arch 
over  the  stage  which,  for  the  occasion,  is  banked  beautifully  with 
evergreens.  Altogether  we  present  rather  the  appearance  of  a 
perpetual  Fourth  of  July  celebration,  but  then  who  cares?  If  one 
can't  be  aesthetic  one  can  at  least  be  gay,  and  it's  anything  to  take 
one's  mind  off  the  mud! 

The  Gendarme  came  back  from  her  leave  tonight  just  in  time 
for  the  Grand  Opening.  This  took  place  at  seven  o'clock.  The 
hall  was  packed  to  the  last  inch.  As  one  boy  said;  "There's  plenty 
of  room  for  me,  but  there  ain't  none  for  the  buttons  on  my  coat." 
There  was  a  reason  for  this.  The  new  colonel  was  to  make  a  speech 
and  he  had  advised  all  the  officers  and  non-coms,  in  the  whole 
regiment  to  be  present.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Company  A  wedged 
in  among  the  suffocating  mass.  Everything,  I  understand,  went 
off  very  nicely;  there  was  much  music  by  the  band  and  somebody 
sang  Danny  Deever  very  thrflUngly,  but  I  was  too  busy  in  the 
kitchen  to  pay  much  attention.  The  new  Secretary  had  wanted  me 
to  sit  on  the  platform,  but  after  a  three  days'  debate,  he  had  finally 
agreed  to  let  me  off,  and  luckily,  for  the  minute  the  last  note  of  the 
S.  S.  B.  had  sounded  we  were  ready  to  start  handing  out  the  hot 
chocolate  and  cookies  over  the  counter  to  the  mob.  When  every- 
one else  had  been  fed  the  colonel  himself  appeared  back  of  the 


82  GONCOURT 

counter,  to  graciously  accept  a  cup  of  chocolate,  and  make  himself 
generally  charming. 

When  the  last  guest  had  gone  and  we  were  getting  ready  to 
shut  up  the  hut  for  the  night,  the  Chief  who  had  come  over  from 
Bourmont  for  the  occasion  drew  me  aside,  looking  solemn. 

"I  have  a  question  to  put  to  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

**The  division  leaves  for  the  front  within  a  short  while.  Do 
you  wish  to  go  with  them?" 

"Of  course!  "said  I. 

GoNCouRT,  March  8. 

This  week  has  gone  by  in  a  whirl.  Because  it  was  our  first  and 
presumably  our  last  week  in  the  big  hut  we  wanted  to  make  it  just 
as  nice  as  was  humanly  possible.  And  this  hasn't  been  an  easy  task 
because  with  the  regiment  putting  on  the  last  touches  before  they  go 
to  the  front,  there  hasn't  been  a  bit  of  spare  man-power  available 
to  help  us;  and  the  mere  problem  of  keeping  that  huge  place  any- 
thing hke  clean  has  almost  swamped  us.  After  mess  at  night,  to 
be  sure,  we  have  no  lack  of  assistance.  The  boys  swarm  into  the 
little  kitchen  in  droves,  eager  to  help  stir  the  chocolate,  or  cut  the 
bread  for  the  sandwiches.  If  only  ten  out  of  every  dozen  would 
be  content  to  stay  the  other  side  of  the  counter,  it  would  simplify 
matters,  but  much  as  they  may  be  underfoot  one  hasn't  the  heart 
to  turn  them  out.  Those  who  can't  get  into  the  kitchen  hang 
about  the  doors,  looking  in,  teasing  for  a  "hand-out"  of  bread  and 
jam.  "I'm  just  so  hungry,"  sighed  a  lad  plaintively  today,  looking 
at  me  out  of  the  comer  of  his  eyes,  "I  could  eat  the  jamb  o5  the 
door!" 

We  have  a  Frenchwoman  to  help  us  in  the  kitchen.  She  is  a 
treasure,  shy  and  bright-eyed  as  a  brown  bird,  and  so  tiny  that  we 
have  to  set  a  packing-box  by  the  stove  for  her  to  stand  on  when 
she  stirs  the  chocolate.  She  is  deaf  and  speaks  patois,  so  between 
her  strange  French  and  mine  still  stranger  we  have  droll  times 
making  each  other  understand.  Yet,  none  the  less,  she  and  the 
boys  manage  to  keep  up  a  running  fire  of  badinage  and  when  they 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  83 

become  too  rowdy,  the  tiny  thing  turns  ridiculously  beUicose  and 
threatens  to  whip  them  all  with  her  chocolate  paddle.  At  night 
we  all  go  home  together  and  one  tall  lad  must  always  come  along 
in  order  to  help  Madame  over  the  road  of  a  thousand  mud  holes 
that  leads  from  the  hut  to  the  highway,  lest  she  be  drowned  in 
transit.  She  carries  a  funny  little  gasolene  lamp  that  gives  about 
as  much  light  as  an  ambitious  fire-fly  and  all  the  way  to  the  main 
road  one  can  hear  her  moaning;  "Mon  DieUy  quel  chemini  Mon 
Dieu,  quel  chemin!^' 
This  has  been  our  week's  programme: 

Sunday.         Hot  chocolate  and  cookies 

Religious  Service  with  special  music 

Song  Service.    More  chocolate 
Monday.        French  Classes 

Hot  chocolate  and  jam  sandwiches 
Tuesday.        Boxing  and  Wrestling  Matches 

Hot  chocolate  and  sardine  sandwiches 
Wednesday.   Band  Concert 

Hot  chocolate  and  jam  sandwiches 
Thursday.      Movies 

Hot  chocolate  and  cookies 
Friday.  Sing  Fest  with  Solos 

Hot  chocolate  and  jam  sandwiches 
Saturday.        Stunt  Programme 

Canned  fruit  and  cookies 

The  hut  has  been  filled  every  night,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
soldiers,  the  auditorium  packed  and  the  writing-room  holding  at 
least  a  hundred  more,  while  the  chocolate  line,  coiling  and  curHng 
about  like  a  monster  snake,  has  for  hours  seemed  absolutely  end- 
less. We  have  worked  out  a  system  for  the  chocolate  serving — 
the  Gendarme  is  cashier,  taking  the  money  and  making  change, 
fifty  centimes  or  nine  cents  for  a  cup  of  chocolate  and  a  sandwich, 
or  six  spice  cookies,  or  four  fig  ones.  One  boy  ladles  out  the  choco- 
late.   I  push  the  cups  over  the  counter,  another  boy  hands  out 


84  GONCOURT 

the  cookies,  a  third  gathers  up  the  dirty  cups  and  carries  them  to 
the  kitchen,  where  three  or  four  others  are  busy  washing  and  wiping 
them,  while  Heaven  only  knows  how  many  more  are  around  the 
stove,  helping  Madame  stir  the  next  kettleful,  opening  milk  cans, 
or  dipping  water  into  a  third  container.  Thus  we  keep  the  line 
merrily  wagging  along. 

Last  night,  quite  unknown  to  the  men,  Pershing  himself  came  to 
town,  whirled  in  after  dark  in  his  big  limousine  and  whirled  away 
again  as  suddenly  and  secretly  as  he  had  arrived.  He  came  to 
give  the  officers  final  instructions  as  to  their  conduct  at  the  front. 

The  first  faint  wistful  scents  of  Spring  are  in  the  air.  This  morn- 
ing Madame  brought  to  our  room  a  tiny  bouquet  of  snow-drops. 
And  one  hears  from  Saint  Thiebault  a  rumour  of  early  violets. 

GoNCouRT,  March  id. 
This  morning  shortly  after  I  reached  the  hut,  one  of  the  men 
from  the  Bourmont  office  came  in  with  a  note  for  me,  it  read; 

My  dear  Miss 


I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  you  more  or  less  con- 
fidentially that  you  will  probably  go  to  the  front  very  shortly. 
You  had  better  have  everything  ready  so  you  could  leave  on  short 
notice  any  time  after  tomorrow  noon. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Enclosed  in  the  envelope  was  a  little  slip  headed  Suggestions  for 
Men  going  to  the  Front.  It  began  "Go  light,  take  no  trunk,"  and 
ended  "  We  provide  helmets,  gas  masks,  etc."  The  note  was  dated 
yesterday. 

I  left  the  canteen  and  hurried  back  here  to  my  billet  to  pack, 
while  the  Gendarme,  who  does  not  wish  to  go  with  the  division  but 
prefers  to  stay  back  and  be  reassigned,  remained  at  the  hut.  What 
with  sorting  and  mending  things,  the  packing  took  all  afternoon. 
What  to  leave  behind  in  storage  and  what  to  take  is  no  end  of  a 
question.  Unfortunately  the  Suggestions  were  compiled  with  a 
view  strictly  to  masculine  necessities. 


THE  DOUGHBOYS  85 

It  has  been  a  grey  dismal  afternoon.  A  melancholy  donkey  in 
somebody's  back-yard  has  kept  up  an  incessant  braying.  "  He  does 
not  please  himseK  at  Goncourt,"  explained  Madame.  "He  is  a 
Saint  Thiebault  donkey."  Meanwhile  half  the  regiment,  it  seems, 
has  strayed  by  under  my  open  window.  I  never  knew  before  how 
consistently  and  persistently  profane  the  A.  E,  F.  could  be  when 
left  to  its  own  devices.  The  amazing  part  of  it  is; — since  this  seems 
to  be  their  natural  style  of  expression,  how  do  they  manage  to 
slough  it  all  and  talk  with  such  perfect  prunes  and  prisms  propriety 
in  the  canteens? 

At  supper  time  we  were  surprised  by  a  Concert  Party  which  had 
arrived  today  unexpectedly  in  this  area.  We  were  particularly 
glad  to  have  them  as  the  nervous  tension  among  the  boys  is  marked 
enough  to  make  us  welcome  anything  to  divert  their  attention. 
We  could  have  the  regular  Sunday  evening  service  first,  we  decided, 
and  then  the  concert  to  finish  off  with.  The  Concert  Party  came  to 
supper  at  our  mess.  There  was  an  ornamental  Russian  violinist, 
male,  an  American  accompanist,  also  male,  and  a  little  French 
actress-singer.  The  minute  we  laid  eyes  on  her  we  knew  that  the 
concert  would  be  a  success.  She  was  all  frills  and  frippery;  lace, 
pink-rose  buds  and  pale  blue  silk,  with  yellow  curls  and  great  blue 
eyes  peering  from  beneath  a  quaint  little  rose-wreathed  poke  bon- 
net; an  amazing  vision  of  femininity  to  appear  suddenly  in  the  mud 
and  dingy  squalor  of  Goncourt! 

The  family  Peirut  was  in  a  great  state  of  mind  over  such  dis- 
tinguished visitors.  They  brought  out  food  enough  to  feed  the 
company  a  week,  and  kept  hovering  about  the  table,  urging  the 
dishes  on  our  guests  and  emitting  little  wails  of  dismay  when 
any  one  of  the  artists  refused  to  eat  enough  for  all  three. 

I  stayed  at  our  billet  to  finish  up  my  packing,  and  went  over 
to  the  hut  late  in  the  evening.  The  concert  was  half  finished. 
As  we  anticipated,  the  Httle  singer  had  made  a  hit.  She  gave 
some  French  songs,  accompanying  them  with  clever  pantomine. 
Then  she  sang  Huckleberry  Finn  and  Oh  Johnny!  As  the  phrase 
has  it,  she  "got  them  going."    She  proved  a  past-mistress  in  the 


86  GONCOURT 

art  of  usmg  her  eyes.  They  winked  at  her  and  she  winked  back. 
Every  last  man  in  the  first  six  rows  was  flirting  with  her,  and 
every  one  was  convinced  that  he  was  making  a  hit  all  his  own. 
Several,  it  was  confided  to  me  afterwards,  developed  matrimonial 
aspirations  on  the  spot.  Then  a  tragic  thing  occurred.  For  the 
closing  number  they  must  give  the  Star  Spangled  Banner.  Every- 
body rose,  and  everybody  in  duty  bound  removed  their  hats.  The 
little  singer  took  one  wild  survey  of  the  audience,  gasped,  choked, 
then  retreated  precipitately  in  order  to  conceal  her  giggles.  A 
week  ago  an  order  was  published  that  the  regiment  should  have 
their  hair  shaved  off  before  going  to  the  front; — every  head  in  the 
whole  auditorium,  thus  suddenly  laid  bare,  was  bald  as  an  egg! 
From  latest  advices  it  appears  that  the  troops  will  start  entrain- 
ing the  middle  of  the  week.  We  are  going  on  ahead  in  order  to 
be  there  to  serve  them  hot  chocolate  when  they  detrain  after  the 
journey.  Every  one  has  a  different  idea  where  that  will  be,  but 
the  best  guess  seems  to  be  the  Lun^ville  sector.  What  sort  of 
conditions  we  will  find  at  the  front  I  haven't  the  least  idea.  I 
missed  the  special  conference  held  at  Bourmont  the  other  day, 
in  which  instructions  and  information  to  the  personnel  bound 
for  the  front  were  given.  The  driver  who  was  to  call  for  us,  failed 
to  do  so;  I  set  out  to  walk,  only  to  find  on  arriving  at  Bourmont 
that  the  conference  had  been  cut  short,  and  was  already  over. 
Nobody  has  told  me  a  word  except  to  tease  me  by  telling  me  that 
I  will  have  to  have  my  hair  cut  off  in  order  to  wear  a  gas-mask. 
Mr.  K.  amuses  himself  by  predicting  cellars  and  cooties.  The 
Peiruts  shake  their  heads  and  talk  about  my  courage,  but  I  can 
see  that  they  mean  folly.  As  for  the  Gendarme's  friends.  Lieut- 
enant Z.  warns:  "Take  my  advice,  stay  out  of  it.  It's  a  man's 
game  out  there."  While  Captain  X.  splutters;  "Sending  you 
to  the  front  without  any  gas-drill,  it's  nothing  short  of  cold-blooded 
murder."   Thus  do  our  friends  encourage  us. 


CHAPTER  III 

RATTENTOUT 

THE  FRONT  . 

Bar-le-Duc,  March  12. 

It*s  not  to  be  the  Lun^ville  sector  after  all,  it's  to  be  the  sector 
just  south  of  Verdun! 

We  arrived  here  at  Bar-le-Duc  last  night  after  a  six-hour  trip 
by  motor  car.  Mr.  K.  came  by  motor-cycle;  most  of  the  other 
men  travelled  by  truck,  sitting  perched  on  top  of  a  load  of  luggage, 
canvas  cots,  and  chocolate  boilers.  The  truck  broke  down  some- 
where en  route  and  never  reached  Bar-le-Duc  until  this  morning, 
when  it  rolled  in  carrying  a  rather  weary-looking  lot  of  passengers. 

Tomorrow  we  go  on  to  our  station  behind  the  lines.  Today 
we  have  spent  shopping  for  supplies.  We  have  bought  writing 
paper;  materials  to  make  hot  chocolate,  paying  two  francs  and  a 
half  apiece  or  almost  fifty  cents  for  a  small-sized  can  of  condensed 
milk;  and  dozens  of  gross  of  little  jars  of  confiture.  Ever  since 
I  was  a  child  Bar-le-Duc  has  meant  just  the  one  thing  to  me, — 
those  little  glasses  of  delectable  currant  preserve  which  bear  its 
label.  We  went  around  to  the  wholesale  houses  which  handle 
the  famous  Confitures  Fins  de  Bar-le-Duc.  The  sight  of  aU  those 
gleaming  rows  of  glass  jars  filled  with  deep  crimson  or  amber- 
colored  currants  was  one  that  I  shan't  easily  forget. 

Bar-le-Duc  is  a  city  which  shows  the  wounds  of  war.  Time 
and  again,  unfortified,  defenceless  as  she  is,  she  has  known  the 
terror  that  flieth  by  night.  Last  summer  several  blocks  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  city  were  completely  demolished  by  bombs  and  the 
wilderness  of  ruins  lies  there  untouched.  All  over  the  city  great 
black  signs  are  painted  on  the  houses;  CavCj  Cave  voutee, — ^vaulted 


88  RATTENTOUT 

cellar, — Place  Pour  40  Personnes.  At  the  end  of  the  afternoon 
we  cUmbed,  Mr.  K  and  I,  to  the  top  of  the  ancient  clock-tower 
which  stands  on  the  edge  of  the  fortress-citadel  of  the  Dukes  of 
Bar,  overlooking  the  city.  Just  above  the  clock  we  came  upon  a 
tiny  platform  transformed  for  the  time  being  into  light-house- 
keeping apartments  for  two  poilus  who  night  and  day  keep  watch 
there  for  enemy  aircraft.  As  we  stood  on  the  little  balcony  out- 
side and  looked  down  on  the  house-tops  of  the  city  spread  be- 
neath us,  with  the  little  children  playing  in  the  streets,  a  telephone 
bell  in  the  tower  tingled.  A  moment  later  one  of  the  poilus  an- 
nounced; "A  squadrille  of  Gothas  has  just  crossed  the  lines, 
headed  for  Paris." 

Alas,  poor  Paris!  Yet  the  news  brought  a  feeling  of  relief  with 
it.  The  little  children  of  Bar-le-Duc  are  safe  for  the  night,  it 
seems.   The  avions  are  out  after  bigger  game. 

Rattentout,  March  14. 

Out  from  Bar-le-Duc  one  swings  into  a  separate  world,  the 
World-Behind-the-Lines.  Here  one  is  at  the  back  door  of  the 
war,  as  it  were.  Passing  through  the  half-abandoned  villages 
one  sees  war  in  its  deshabille;  you  get  no  sense  of  the  thrill  of  it, 
nor  even  of  its  horrors;  only  the  weary  disgust,  the  stultifying 
stupidity,  the  unutterable  ennui. 

Here  everything  that  moves  or  lives,  it  seems,  is  blue;  faded 
blue,  dingy  blue,  purplish  or  greenish  blue  perhaps,  but  blue 
nevertheless.  Everywhere  the  color  insists.  It  streaks  along 
the  roads  in  long,  broken  lines,  the  meagre  trodden  villages  are 
blotched  and  patched  with  it.  Indeed  the  whole  horizon,  at  this 
season  of  the  year,  might  be  expressed  in  just  two  tones;  the 
almost  uniform  grey-yellow  tint  that  washes  over  the  fields,  the 
rolling  hills,  the  dusty  roads,  the  squalid  villages,  and  the  ever- 
insistent  poilu-blue. 

You  pass  by  tilled  fields  labeled  Culture  MUitaire;  great  grey- 
green  aerodromes  with  flocks  of  little  planes  resting  in  rows  beside 
them,  in  their  gay  paint  resembling  nothing  in  the  world  so  much 


THE  FRONT  89 

as  dicky  birds  fresh  from  the  toy  shop;  and  always  dotted  here 
and  there  over  the  open  fields,  the  little  lonely  graves,  sometimes 
hedged  in  by  fences  made  of  sticks  and  always  marked  by  a  grey 
wooden  cross  on  which  hangs,  in  painted  tin,  the  tricolor.  Farther 
on  you  come  to  the  world  where  men  live  underground,  burrowing 
in  the  earth  like  hunted  animals.  Scattered  along  the  road-side, 
or  in  rows  under  the  shelter  of  a  hill-slope,  everywhere  you  look, 
are  dugouts,  some  with  the  entrances  covered  with  pine-boughs, 
others  thatched  with  sticks,  still  others  hidden  beneath  earth- 
colored  camouflages. 

We  arrived  here  last  night  about  dusk.  The  poilus  as  we  passed 
stared  at  us  as  if  we  were  so  many  lunatics.  Rattentout  is  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Meuse,  about  six  miles  from  the  trenches.  This 
means  for  one  thing  that  you  must  carry  a  gas-mask  with  you 
wherever  you  go.  One  even  sees  the  little  children,  what  few  of 
them  are  left,  trudging  about  with  small-sized  masks  slung  over 
their  shoulders.  The  Y.  here  is  short  of  masks  and  as  yet  M. — 
the  only  canteen  worker  besides  myself  to  come  with  the  advance 
guard — and  I  have  none.  This  morning  when  the  Chief  went  out 
he  hung  his  mask  on  a  peg  in  the  hall.  "If  anything  happens," 
he  said  to  M.  and  me,  "you  two  can  settle  it  between  you,  which 
shall  have  it." 

Our  home  here  is  in  a  lordly  mansion,  evidently  the  Big  House 
of  the  village.  French  officers  were  living  here  before  we  came. 
The  regiment  to  which  they  belonged  moving  out  just  as  we 
arrived,  they  graciously  made  over  the  house  to  us.  The  officers 
had  started  a  vegetable  garden  in  the  back-yard  and  this  they 
relinquished  with  deep  regret,  one  young  lieutenant  fairly  having 
tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  took  a  last  survey  of  his  rows  of  tiny  lettuce 
and  young  cabbages. 

Today  is  to  be  given  over  to  house-cleaning,  and  getting  settled. 
Tomorrow  the  troops  are  due  to  begin  detraining  at  the  two  points 
Landrecourt  and  Dugny  and  we  are  to  be  there  to  serve  them 
hot  chocolate. 

Last  night  we  took  our  supper  at  the  dingy  little  house  next 


90  RATTENTOUT 

door,  a  surprisingly  delicious  meal,  bread  and  butter,  omelette, 
salad  and  cocoa.  The  house  next  door  is  one  of  the  half-dozen  or 
so  in  town  still  inhabited  by  civilians.  The  family  consists  of 
grandmother,  mother  and  little  girl  of  five;  the  husband  is  in 
the  trenches.  The  child  Pauline  is  half  sick  with  a  feverish  cold. 
They  could  get  no  medicine,  the  mother  fretted;  we  promised  some 
from  Bar-le-Duc.  The  house  itself  is  painfully  unkempt  and  dirty, 
yet  Pauline  is  always  fresh  in  a  spotless  white  pinafore,  her  glossy 
hair  immaculately  brushed.  This  morning  we  went  to  the  house 
next  door  again  for  bread  and  coffee. 

"Did  you  sleep  last  night?"  asked  Madame. 

"  But  yes, — and  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  ''I  was  afraid  of  the  Boche  aeroplanes.  I 
could  hear  them  overhead." 

"But  I  should  think  you  would  be  used  to  them  by  now." 

"Ah!    But  that  makes  no  difference!" 

What  considerarion  keeps  her  here,  clinging  to  the  very  door- 
step of  the  war,  as  it  were,  hounded  as  she  is,  by  terrors?  Just 
the  one  reason,  I  suppose, — that  she  has  nowhere  else  to  go. 

Rattentout,  March  15. 

Lafayette^  nous  voiW  The  first  battalions  of  the  division  have 
arrived. 

The  car  called  for  us  early  this  morning  to  take  us  to  Dugny- 
Est  where  half  the  men  are  to  detrain.  We  followed  along  the  east 
bank  of  the  Meuse  running  parallel  to  the  Canal  de  VEst.  The 
canal  was  a  dismal  sight,  filled  with  an  endless  line  of  empty  aban- 
doned barges,  many  of  them  settling  slowly  down  as  if  water-logged, 
a  few,  already  sunk,  leaving  nothing  but  a  bit  of  prow  protruding 
above  the  water's  surface.  We  ran  along  the  bank  for  about  three 
miles,  then  swung  across  the  Meuse  to  Dugny.  Dugny-Est  is  a 
half  mile  north  of  Dugny  proper, — the  terminus  of  a  strip  of  rail- 
way taken  over  and  run  by  American  engineers.  Viewed  from  the 
detraining  tracks  the  landscape  was  bleak  enough;  the  morasses 
of  the  Meuse,  stnmg  with  barbed-wire  beyond,  an  austere  deserted- 


THE  FRONT  91 

looking  church  in  the  foreground,  and,  dreariest  of  all,  right  under 
the  boys'  feet  as  they  detrained,  almost,  a  large  military  grave-yard. 

Arriving  at  the  little  stone  station-house  made  over  to  us  for 
the  occasion,  we  found  the  chocolate  already  made.  Four  of  the  Y. 
men  had  spent  the  night  there  and  by  dint  of  stoking  the  fires  all 
night  long,  as  they  declared,  they  had  gotten  the  five  huge  con- 
tainers hot.  The  equipment  assembled  in  haste  at  Bar-le-Duc  was 
evidently  proving  none  too  satisfactory. 

I  had  just  time  to  suspend  a  small  American  flag  from  the  front 
of  the  station-house  before  the  first  train  puffed  up  the  track. 
Nothing  I  think  has  ever  looked  quite  so  good  to  me  as  that  old 
American  locomotive.  It  was  the  first  one  I  had  seen  in  France. 
I  wanted  to  throw  my  arms  around  it  and  hug  it.  As  one  of  the 
boys  said  afterwards:  "Why,  you'd  be  happy  just  to  lie  down  on 
the  track  and  let  the  darned  thing  run  over  you." 

I  stood  under  the  flag  and  waved  frantically,  first  to  the  Ameri- 
can train  crew  and  then,  oh  joy!  to  my  Company  A!  There  they 
all  were,  crowded  in  the  open  doors  of  their  box  cars,  "Side-door 
Pullmans"  as  they  call  them,  MaguUigan  the  prize  fighter,  comi- 
cally conspicuous  with  his  head  done  up  in  a  sort  of  night-cap  made 
from  a  large  white  handkerchief.  The  train  pulled  by,  slowed 
down,  came  to  a  standstill  up  the  track.  We  hustled  the  chocolate 
cans  out  by  the  road-side.  Company  A,  the  first  off  the  train, 
came  marching  down  the  road;  each  man  held  out  his  mess-cup 
and  got  a  dipperful  of  cocoa. 

"Where  are  we? "  they  demanded. 

"Four  miles  south  of  Verdun.    How  do  you  like  the  scenery?" 

"All  right  except  the  grave-yard.    That's  too  handy." 

"  Say  "  spoke  up  one  of  the  boys,  "I  heard  the  mud  out  here  in 
the  trenches  was  pretty  deep." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"Yes  they  said  a  feller  went  in  over  his  ankles  there  the  other 
day." 

"I  wouldn't  call  that  very  deep!"  I  bit.  ' 

"Mm,  but  he  went  in  head-first!" 


92  RATTENTOUT 

I  asked  one  of  the  corporals  how  things  were  going. 

"We  were  feelin'  kind  o'  lost,"  he  confessed.  "Then  we  looked 
out  and  saw  the  old  flag  and  you.  After  that  it  seemed  just  like 
home  somehow." 

They  marched  off  down  the  road  looking  very  business-Uke  and 
miUtary.  Next  came  the  other  companies  belonging  to  the  first 
battalion,  and  the  regimental  machine-gun  company.  These  were 
not  permitted  to  stop  by  the  station-house  on  account  of  the  danger 
of  being  observed  by  enemy  aircraft,  but  were  halted  at  a  distance 
down  the  road.  We  picked  up  the  chocolate  cans  and  chased  after 
them. 

When  every  man  in  the  First  Battalion  had  had  a  drink,  we 
hurried  back  to  the  stone-house  to  get  ready  for  the  next  train- 
load.  As  I  stirred  the  chocolate  on  one  of  the  little  stoves  set  up 
outside,  several  of  the  train  crew  came  to  talk  to  me.  I  was  the 
first  "real  honest-to-God  American  girl"  they  had  seen  in  months 
they  told  me;  and  they  were  just  as  excited  over  me  as  I  had  been 
over  their  engine. 

If  the  history  of  America  in  the  Great  War  should  ever  be  written 
down  in  detail,  surely  one  chapter  should  be  given  over  to  a  Little 
Iliad  of  the  "Six  Bit  Railway"  that  runs  from  Sommeil  to  Dugny- 
Est,  five  kilometers  south  of  Verdun;  how,  as  I  had  it  from  the 
Hps  of  one  of  those  engineers,  the  English  took  it  over  from  the 
French  and  tried  to  run  it  and  failed,  how  the  Canadians  took  it 

after  them  and  failed  too,  how  then  the Engineers  fell  heir  to 

it.  How  they  lived  with  the  French,  eating  French  rations  which 
were  gall  and  wormwood  to  them.  How  they  struggled  with  an  alien 
tongue  and  finally  reduced  it  to  a  wierd  unholy  gibberish  which 
was  yet  somehow  intelligible  both  to  the  French  and  to  themselves. 
How  they  came  through  shell-fire  and  gas  and  bombing  raids, 
seemingly  bearing  charmed  fives.  And  how  they  worked  forty-eight 
hours  at  a  stretch  whenever  the  big  drives  and  shifts  were  on. 

Tonight  one  of  the  secretaries  told  us  that,  as  he  was  standing 
by  the  road-side  watching  while  we  ladled  out  the  chocolate,  one 
of  the  boys  said  to  him: 


THE  FRONT  93 

"I'm  thinking  of  a  toast." 

"And  what  might  that  be?" 

"God  bless  American  women,"  the  boy  answered  him. 


Rattentout,  March  16. 

When  we  reached  the  station-house  this  morning  we  found  every- 
one agog  over  the  night's  events.  The  detraining  had  gone  on  all 
night;  at  first  without  incident.  All  precautions  had  been  taken, 
no  one  was  allowed  to  so  much  as  light  a  match.  About  midnight 
one  of  the  marine  soup-kitchens  had  been  unloaded  and  rolled  down 
the  road  puffing  sparks  and  scattering  coals.  Some  enterprising 
mess  sergeant  had  evidently  planned  that  his  men  should  have  a 
hot  meal.  The  French  spectators  in  consternation  had  followed 
the  soup-kitchen  down  the  road,  extinguishing  the  trailing  embers, 
but  the  mischief  was  already  done.  There  were  German  planes 
scouting  overhead,  they  noted,  evidently,  the  sparks,  and  signaled 
the  range  to  the  German  gunners.  Fifteen  minutes  later  a  six 
inch  shell  exploded  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  little  stone-house, 
then  another  and  another.  One  shell  had  fallen  in  the  very  center 
of  the  grass-plot  where  Company  D  had  lined  up  to  eat  their 
luncheon  of  cold  corn-willy  sandwiches  and  hot  chocolate.  The 
gas-alarm  had  been  sounded.  A  mule  team  had  become  frantic  and 
bolted,  encountering  the  marine  band's  big  base  drum,  had  made 
toothpicks  of  it.  Meanwhile  confusion,  it  seemed,  had  reigned  in 
the  little  stone-house.  One  secretary,  seizing  an  article  of  under- 
wear and  putting  it  on  his  head  in  mistake  for  a  helmet,  had  dashed 
madly  up  and  down  the  road  as  the  shells  fell,  and  ended  by  burst- 
ing, in  his  deshabille,  into  the  private  dugout  of  a  French  colonel. 

No  Americans  were  hurt,  but  one  poilu  had  been  injured  and 
another  killed. 

"They  have  our  range  now,"  said  everybody.  "And  look  at 
those  Boche  balUoons,  will  you?" 

We  looked  to  the  northeast;  three  German  observation  balloons 
were  hanging  just  above  the  hills. 


94  RATTENTOUT 

We  stirred  the  chocolate  and  served  it  to  whatever  boys  happened 
to  be  about,  boys  on  detail,  drivers  of  mule-teams.  One  can, 
having  been  kept  warm  all  night,  had  turned.  Some  bright  soul 
suggested  that  it  was  the  concussion  of  the  shelling  that  had 
soured  the  milk,  just  as  thunderstorms  sometimes  do.  Two 
poilus  leaned  in  at  the  window. 

"WTiat  are  you  doing?"  they  asked  curiously.  We  explained; 
they  shook  their  heads.  "You  spoil  your  soldiers."  Then,  "Was 
anyone  killed  last  night?" 

"Yes,  one  Frenchman." 

"Oh  that's  nothing!"    {Ca  ne  fait  rim.)    They  strolled  away. 

The  friendly  interpreter  came  in  and  told  us  that  they  were 
about  to  hold  the  poilu's  funeral. 

A  troop-train  pulled  in.  It  was  loaded  with  soldiers  from  my 
own  regiment,  the  Second  Battalion.  The  chocolate  was  ready, 
smelt  delicious. 

"You  can't  serve  it,"  they  told  us.  "On  account  of  last  night's 
shelling,  the  troops  won't  be  allowed  to  stop  iintil  they're  well 
beyond  the  town." 

"Isn't  there  some  way  we  can  manage?"  we  teased. 

"No,  they've  got  our  range." 

"Well  at  least  we  can  say  hello  to  them!" 

We  went  down  to  the  tracks  where  the  men  were  spilling  out 
of  the  box  cars.  They  were  gathering  up  their  equipment  and 
forming  in  companies  in  double  time.  One  red-in-the-face  ser- 
geant was  furiously  demanding  who  in  blazes  had  stolen  his 
revolver  on  him;  it  was  evident  that  he  found  the  presence  of 
ladies  sadly  hampering  to  his  flow  of  language.  Three  companies 
marched  off.  The  last  to  go  was  H  Company,  the  company  that 
had  been  billeted  on  the  same  street  with  us  at  Goncourt.  We 
waved  and  they  smiled  back  at  us.  They  marched  down  the  road, 
disappeared  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 

We  stood  chatting  with  two  boys  who  were  on  a  billeting  de- 
tail. 

There  was  a  dull  heavy  detonation  beyond  the  hills.    A  moment 


THE  FRONT  95 

later  a  strange  whistling  screech  shrilled  over  our  heads.  I  stared 
into  the  air,  trying  to  see — I  knew  of  course  it  was  a  shell,  but  I  had 
never  thought  one  would  travel  so  slowly  or  be  quite  so  noisy  about 
it.  The  whistling  shriek  passed  over  us,  changed  to  a  dropping 
whine.  Down  the  street  there  was  a  thunderous  explosion  followed 
instantly  by  a  shattering  crash.  Timbers,  tiles,  stones,  a  mass  of 
debris  splashed  for  a  moment  up  against  the  sky.  The  shell  had 
fallen  at  the  cross-roads.    I  stared  at  M.    I  was  cold  all  over. 

*'It  must  have  got  them,"  I  heard  myself  whispering.  "My 
God!  it  must  have  got  them!" 

We  stared  down  the  road.  Everywhere  figures  in  poilu  blue  and 
some  in  khaki,  were  running  like  rabbits  towards  the  dugouts. 
It  seemed  to  me  the  uncertainty  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

"I'm  going  to  go  and  see." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  M. 

We  stopped  at  the  station-house  and  put  on  our  helmets;  then 
we  started  down  the  road.  Just  beyond  the  'station-house  we 
passed  a  little  cortege  of  poilus  carrying  the  body  of  their  comrade 
on  a  stretcher-bier.  They  were  on  their  way  to  the  church.  When 
the  first  shell  came  over  I  had  seen  the  funeral  procession  waver, 
hesitate,  seem  uncertain  for  a  few  moments  whether  to  proceed 
or  to  seek  shelter,  now,  their  indecision  conquered,  they  were 
continuing  their  march  with  what  seemed  an  added  dignity.  A 
limousine  drew  up  behind  us,  stopped.  In  the  back  seat  sat  an 
American  major. 

"Give  you  a  lift?" 

We  climbed  in.  Half  way  down  the  hiU  another  shell  shrieked 
over  our  heads,  burst  in  front  of  us.    We  reached  the  cross-roads. 

"Let  us  out,  please." 

The  major  stared,  them  stopped  the  car.  We  scrambled  out. 
The  car  whirled  off.  Two  houses  lay,  crushed  heaps  of  stone. 
In  the  road  were  three  dead  horses  and  an  automobile  with  a 
crumpled  radiator.  That  was  all.  Another  shell  struck,  sending 
us  cowering  against  the  nearest  house-wall.  As  far  as  we  could 
see  the  place  was  utterly  deserted.    There  was  nothing  to  do  but 


96  RATTENTOUT 

go  back.  Half-way  up  the  hill  we  met  a  poilu,  he  was  carrying 
an  O.  D.  blouse.  He  asked  us  where  the  wounded  American  was; 
he  had  been  carried  into  some  house  nearby;  this  was  his  coat. 
We  could  of  course  tell  him  nothing.  The  wind  which  had  been 
strong  all  morning,  was  filling  the  air  with  blinding  clouds  of  yellow 
dust.  The  shells  were  coming  over  at  regular  intervals,  so  many 
minutes  between  them;  they  were  all  falling,  it  seemed,  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  cross-roads.  A  Uttle  further  up  the  hill  and  we  began 
to  meet  mule  teams  from  the  supply  train  driving  down.  The 
mule-skinners  on  their  high  seats  looked  calm  enough,  but  a  num- 
ber of  the  mules  were  becoming  quite  unmanageable.  I  recognized 
the  slim  lad  of  seventeen  with  whom  I  had  driven  into  Bourmont 
from  Goncourt  once  after  a  load  of  canteen  supplies.  As  each 
team  passed,  we  waved  our  hands  and  wished  them  luck;  but  all 
the  time  I  kept  repeating  to  myself: 

"They're  going  right  down  into  it.  God  help  them!  Why  does 
itjiave  to  be?  " 

A  French  officer  encountered  us,  asked  us  politely  if  we  wouldn't 
like  to  step  down  into  a  dugout.  I  was  amused  at  his  manner 
which  was  as  casual  as  if  he  were  pff  ering  us  an  umbrella  in  a  shower. 
There  were  some  excellent  dug-outs  up  on  the  hill-side  he  assured 
us.  "But  I  don't  want  to  go  into  a  dugout!"  ^^Mademoiselle  a 
heaucoup  d^ esprit/'  he  observed,  "  mais  ce  n'est  pas  prudent."  Obedi- 
ently we  climbed  the  hill,  to  come  upon  a  little  group  of  Americans 
gathered  about  the  entrance  to  a  dugout,  watching  the  shells  as 
they  came  over.  Taking  a  peep  into  the  dugout  I  found  it  had 
already  been  patronized  by  several  poilus.  We  sat  on  the  ground 
and  watched  the  shelling.  On  the  other  side  of  the  town  we  could 
see  Company  H  flung  out  in  skirmish  line,  marching  over  the  open 
fields. 

Presently  a  boy  in  olive  drab  came  panting  and  laughing  up 
the  hill.  The  group  welcomed  him  with  a  shout.  He  was  one  of 
the  billeting  detail.  They  had  been  staying  in  a  house  at  the  cross- 
roads. When  the  others  had  gone  out  this  morning  he  had  been 
left  to  clean  up  and  get  dinner.    He  had  washed  all  the  dishes,  he 


THE  FRONT  97 

told  us,  and  had  just  gone  out  and  bought  a  basketful  of  eggs  to 
make  an  omelette  for  dinner,  when  crash!  the  first  shell  had  fallen 
demolishing  the  house  next  to  theirs.  He  had  stepped  out  to  look 
at  the  ruins  and  returned,  when  bang!  went  the  house  on  the  other 
side  of  him!  He  began  to  think  it  might  be  time  for  him  to  move, 
when,  oh  boy!  zowie!  a  shell  had  wrecked  the  upper  story  of  the 
billet  over  him.  Then  he  had  left.  But  he  was  feeling  very  badly 
about  those  eggs.  Corporal  G.  also  of  the  billeting  detail  looked 
at  him  with  widened  eyes.  "And  I  was  half  a  mind  to  stay  up- 
stairs in  bed  and  not  get  up  this  morning!"  he  remarked.  The 
boys  found  solace  for  the  loss  of  the  omelette  in  the  thought  that 
all  the  effects  of  the  very  unpopular  captain  billeted  next  door 
must  surely  have  been  annihilated. 

After  an  hour  or  so  the  shelling  stopped.  One  by  one  blue  forms 
emerged  from  the  dugouts.  The  Chief  had  ordered  the  flivver  to 
report  at  eleven.    It  was  noon  ^.nd  it  hadn't  appeared. 

"We  must  walk  to  Rattentout,"  said  the  Chief.  "No  use  our 
staying  here." 

It  was  hot  and  dusty  and  my  helmet  weighed  like  a  mountain 
on  my  head,  but  at  last  we  made  it.  Some  two  miles  or  so  from 
Dugny  we  passed  two  marines  sitting  in  discouraged  postures  by 
the  roadside. 

"WTiat's  the  matter?" 

"He's  had  a  fit,"  growled  one  of  the  warriors,  jerking  his  thumb 
in  the  direction  of  his  comrade's  back. 

"He  has  'em.    They  never  ought  ter  let  him  come." 

There  was  nothing  we  could  offer  them  but  sympathy. 

Rattentout,  March  17. 
Here  I  am  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  little  garden  back  of  our 
billet,  soaked  in  spring  sunshine.  Over  my  head  the  lilacs  are 
leafing  out  against  a  sky  of  Italian  blue,  at  my  feet  are  golden 
crocuses  and  the  first  pale  primroses.  But  the  sky,  as  one  gazes 
at  it,  has  an  odd  trick  of  breaking  out  in  little  puffy  dots  of  white 
like  nothing  so  much  as  kernels  of  corn  in  a  corn-popper.    These 


98  RATTENTOUT 

are  of  course  the  bursting  shells  fired  by  French  anti-aircraft  bat- 
teries at  the  enemy  aviators  overhead;  sometimes  you  can  see  the 
plane  itself,  skimming  like  a  gnat  among  the  smoke  puffs.  "They 
don't  seem  to  get  'em  often,"  as  a  boy  remarked  to  me.  "  But  golly 
they  do  make  'em  move!" 

Ever  since  the  Americans  began  to  arrive  the  German  planes 
have  been  constantly  overhead.  They  are  taking  photographs; 
they  say.    Where,  oh  where  are  our  American  aviators? 

In  my  ears  as  I  sit  here  is  a  curious  sound,  a  sound  like  the  pound- 
ing of  tremendous  breakers  on  a  stormy  shore:  it  is  the  guns  of 
Verdun,  Les  Eparges  and  St.  Mihiel.  At  rhythmic  intervals  this 
sound  is  punctuated  by  heavy  crashing  thuds  nearer  at^hand.  They 
are  shelling  Dugny  again.  All  the  civilians  fled  yesterday.  A 
driver,  coming  in  last  night,  told  us  how  they  went,  empty-handed, 
creeping  along  the  edges  of  the  roads  under  the  cover  of  trees  or 
brush,  fearing  to  step  out  in  the  open  lest  they  be  spied  and  bombed 
by  the  German  aeroplanes  overhead.  The  church  where  they  held 
the  poilu's  funeral  has  already  been  struck  by  a  shell  and  the  steeple 
demolished. 

In  front  of  the  house  the  street  is  quiet.  All  through  the  day 
the  town  seems  a  sleepy  deserted  place,  but  at  night  it  is  a  different 
matter;  then  the  real  business  of  the  day  begins.  Carts  and  camions 
may  straggle  past  at  odd  intervals  during  the  daylight  hours,  but 
with  darkness,  the  traffic  starts  to  pour  by  in  a  perfectly  unbroken 
stream.  One  lies  awake  and  listens,  it  seems  for  hours,  to  the 
absolutely  incessant  rattle  of  carts,  trucks,  caissons  and  gun  car- 
riages passing  along  the  road,  until  it  seems  as  if  the  whole  French 
Army  must  be  on  the  move. 

Little  Pauline  is  better  today.  She  has  just  come  running  into 
the  garden  through  the  back  gate,  in  company  with  a  big  curly 
dog.  Rattentout  they  tell  us  is  the  "Dog  Town"  for  this  sector; 
every  dog  picked  up  near  the  front,  lost  mascots,  faithful  beasts 
looking  for  their  masters,  strays  of  every  sort,  are  sent  back  here 
for  keeping. 

Presently  I  must  go  in  and  help  M.  get  the  supper.    Our  food, 


THE  FRONT  99 

over  and  beyond  what  we  brought  from  Bar-le-Duc  in  tins  and  sacks, 
is  furnished  us  by  the  French  Army.  Every  morning  a  dapper 
little  corporal  calls  to  take  our  orders.  When  the  official  inter- 
preter is  out  it  falls  to  me  to  do  the  parleying.  The  corporal  is 
patient  and  very  military  and  oh  so  poUte!  He  brings  us  fresh 
butter,  fresh  eggs,  even  so  much  as  a  quart  of  fresh  milk,  and  the 
most  dehcious  fresh  French  bread  I  have  ever  tasted.  The  first 
day  he  came  he  was  dreadfully  distressed;  he  had  no  fresh  meat 
to  ofifer  us.  This  morning  he  shone  with  smiles.  There  was  plenty 
of  fresh  beef  now,  plenty!  We  ordered  some  and  ate  it  stewed  for 
dinner.  It  was  dark  and  tough  and  stringy.  I  could  dare  swear 
that  I  saw  that  "beef"  freshly  slaughtered  yesterday  at  Dugny 
cross-roads. 

A  French  liaison  officer  called  here  this  afternoon.  He  told  me 
that  it  was  quite  true  that  a  certain  regiment  of  French  infantry 
had  gone  into  battle,  each  man  carrying  with  him  the  wooden 
cross  which  was  to  mark  his  grave  if  he  fell.  To  earn  le  croix  de 
hois  is  the  current  slang  phrase  among  the  French  to  designate 
dying  a  soldier's  death. 

Yesterday  noon  a  detachment  of  marines  arrived  in  Rattentout. 
During  the  day  they  must  keep  under  cover,  but  last  night  after 
sundown  they  came  out  and  played  baseball  in  the  street.  When  I 
looked  out  my  window  and  saw  those  lads  in  olive  drab  nonchal- 
antly throwing  and  catching  a  baseball  under  my  window,  I  felt 
as  if  something  safe  and  sane  had  somehow  appeared  in  the  midst 
of  a  strange  night-mare  world. 

Rattentout,  March  18. 

I  have  said;  "Good-bye,  Good  luck!"  to  my  boys. 

Today  we  received  word  that  the  first  battalion  of  my  regiment 
was  to  take  its  place  in  the  trenches  by  Les  Eparges  at  twelve 
o'clock  tonight,  leaving  Genicourt  where  they  have  been  billeted, 
at  eight.  I  breathed  a  piteous  appeal  to  the  Chief.  At  five  o'clock 
the  car  called  for  us. 

Earlier  in  the  afternoon  there  had  been  an  air  battle  over  Geni- 


loo  RATTENTOUT 

court.  I  heard  the  soft  whtUy  whut  of  the  anti-aircraft  guns,  and 
later  the  staccato  rattle  of  machine-guns  in  the  air.  Looking  out 
I  could  see  the  planes,  one  German  and  two  French  darting  among 
the  shrapnel  puffs,  the  German  escaping,  sad  to  say,  unharmed. 
Now  a  French  observation  balloon  was  floating  over  Genicourt,  a 
curious-looking  thing  shaped  like  a  huge  ram's  head,  and  a  dull 
green  in  color.  As  we  neared  the  town  they  started  to  haul  the 
balloon  in:  it  came  down  with  astonishing  rapidity. 

We  rolled  into  Genicourt,  a  sodden  desolate  village  clinging  under 
the  lea  of  a  low  hill,  just  now  alive  with  suppressed  vitality.  The 
boys  had  been  ordered  to  keep  their  billets  until  the  last  moment, 
as  any  unusual  number  of  men  about  might  be  observed  by  an 
enemy  aeroplane.  Nevertheless  there  were  plenty  of  stragglers  in 
the  streets,  while  out  of  the  windows  were  leaning  several  hundred 
more,  craning  their  necks  in  order  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  des- 
cending balloon. 

We  went  to  the  Foyer  du  Soldat,  a  bright  clean  barracks,  the 
walls  covered  with  posters  in  vivid  hues.  It  was  full  of  our  boys. 
They  laughed,  joked,  played  checkers  and  pounded  the  piano,  some 
were  dancing  together.  Yet  through  all  the  gaiety  one  had  a  sense 
of  tension,  of  nervous  strain.  Some  of  the  boys  asked  us  to  sing, 
one  lad  evidently  in  a  more  solemn  mood  repeatedly  requested 
"My  Country  'Tis  of  Thee."  We  sang  the  ''Long,  Long  Trail" 
and  "Keep  the  Home  Fires  Burning."  Then  we  went  out  in  the 
street  again.  The  French,  we  gathered,  were  quite  astonished  at 
the  high  spirits  of  the  Americans.  "Ah,  but  it's  their  first  time," 
they  said.    "After  four  years  it  will  be  different." 

In  the  public  square  they  had  been  holding  some  sort  of  cere- 
mony, an  interchange  of  formal  greetings  between  the  French  and 
American  officers.  A  French  military  band  had  just  finished  its 
programme.  As  we  passed  they  played  the  Marseillaise  and  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner;  we  all  stood  at  attention. 

We  came  to  the  street  where  Company  A  was  billeted.  The 
boys  leaned  out  of  the  windows  and  waved  and  called  to  me.  Every- 
where it  was  the  same  question: 


THE  FRONT      '        '  loi 

"What  shall  I  bring  you  from  the  trenciies?" 

"Do  you  want  a  live  Boche  for  a  souvenir?    I'll  get  you  one!" 

They  thought  my  gas-mask  was  a  lovely  joke.  "What's  that 
strap  across  your  shoulder  for?"  they  teased. 

"That?    Oh  that's  my  new  Sam  Browne  belt!" 

"Say!  Bet  you  don't  know  how  to  put  it  on!"  Then  they  would 
yell  "Gas!"  just  to  frighten  me. 

In  the  street  a  little  crowd  of  boys  were  tossing  coppers.  Every- 
body was  anxious  to  get  rid  of  his  "clackers,"  in  order  not  to  have 
to  carry  all  that  useless  weight  into  the  trenches  with  him.  They 
invited  me  to  join.  I  tried  one  penny  while  the  boys  all  cheered, 
only  to  miss  by  a  good  yard.  Lieut.  B.  came  by:  "Will  you  take 
tea  with  me  in  my  dugout?"  he  asked. 

The  order  was  given  for  the  companies  to  form.  The  streets 
filled  up;  dusk  was  gathering.  The  Chief  said  that  it  was  time  to 
go.  We  found  the  car  in  the  public  square.  Slowly  we  moved  out 
of  town.  I  shall  never  forget  those  long  brown  files  drawn  up 
against  the  dim  grey  houses.  Five  hours  hence  and  those  very  boys 
would  be  in  the  front  line  trenches,  face  to  face  with  the  enemy. 
We  passed  Company  A.  I  called  out  to  them  to  be  sure  not  to 
stick  their  heads  up  over  the  top,  and  not  to  dare  to  take  off  their 
gas-masks  before  they  were  ordered  to.  Never  before  did  I  realize 
how  much  those  boys  meant  to  me.  Each  face  I  saw  flashed  some 
vivid  unforgettable  association  to  my  mind.  "When  you  come 
back,"  I  called,  "I'll  be  waiting  for  you  with  the  hot  chocolate 
ready."  They  smiled  and  waved  Good-bye  to  me.  Some  of  them 
held  up  their  fingers  to  show  how  many  Germans  they  were  going 
to  account  for.  A  turn  in  the  road  shut  it  all  from  sight.  On 
the  way  back  to  Rattentout  we  passed  the  Third  Battalion, 
who  were  marching  in  on  their  very  heels  to  take  over  their 
billets. 

It's  eleven  o'clock  now.  They  must  be  almost  in.  They  are 
marching,  I  know,  in  darkness  and  silence;  not  a  cigarette  is  to 
be  lighted,  not  a  word  spoken  above  a  whisper.  One  hour  more 
and  the  relief  will  be  completed. 


102  RATTENTOUT 

Rattentout,  March  19. 

I  am  to  be  sent  to  Paris  for  reassignment.  I  have,  it  seems, 
been  guilty  of  conduct  unbecoming  a  lady  under  shell-fire.  This 
sentence  has  been  hanging  over  me  ever  since  that  day  at  Dugny. 
I  knew  of  course  that  I  was  in  disgrace  but  never  dreamed  that  it 
would  come  to  this. 

It  seems,  what  no  one  had  troubled  to  hint  to  me,  that  we  have 
been  allowed  to  go  farther  front  than  any  women  of  any  of  the 
AUied  Nations  in  France  have  been  permitted  to  go  to  work  before. 
Moreover  that  the  French,  whose  guests  we  are  in  this  sector,  were 
very  much  opposed  to  the  presence  of  women  here,  and  only  finally, 
after  much  persuasion,  allowed  us  to  come  here  on  trial.  Now 
the  Chief  says  that  he  is  afraid  that  my  indiscreet  action  at  Dugny 
in  going  down  to  the  cross-roads  instead  of  into  a  dugout  may  have 
shocked  the  French.  In  order  to  forestall  any  possible  protest  by 
our  Allies  I  am  to  be  made  an  example  of  the  discipline  of  the 
organization. 

Etretat,  Normandy.  March  28. 

I  have  been  here  a  week  on  leave.  To-morrow  I  start  back  for 
Paris  once  more.    Where  I  am  to  go  after  that  is  uncertain. 

It  seems  strange  to  be  in  France  and  not  be  wading  through  seas 
of  mud,  but  to  have  firm  turf  and  dry  roads  beneath  one's  feet.  The 
hamlets  here,  while  picturesque,  are  quite  spruce  and  tidy,  amaz- 
ingly different  from  the  quaint  but  indescribably  dirty  little  mud- 
pie  muck-heap  villages  to  which  I  have  been  used. 

This  pretty  little  coast  town,  once  a  fishing  village,  then  a  sum- 
mer resort,  is  now  chiefly  a  hospital.  All  the  large  hotels  have 
been  taken  over  for  wards  and  inurses'  quarters,  the  big  casino 
filled  with  row  on  row  of  iron  cots.  It  is  an  American  hospital  with 
American  doctors,  nurses  and  orderlies,  but  attached  to  the  B.  E.  F. 
and  filled  of  course  with  British  patients.  As  in  all  the  English 
hospitals,  as  soon  as  a  patient  is  able  to  get  out  of  bed  he  is  dressed 
in  a  "suit  of  blues;"  trousers  and  jumper  blouse  of  bright  blue 
cotton,  white  shirt,  scarlet  tie  and  handkerchief  to  match,  making 
him  look  exactly  like  a  grown-up,  Greenaway  boy.    The  men  hate 


THE  FRONT  103 

them,  they  tell  me,  but  I  for  one  am  grateful  to  the  designer  as  the 
bright  blue  and  scarlet  makes  wonderful  splotches  of  color  in  the 
landscape. 

There  may  be  a  more  disgusted  set  of  boys  in  France  than  these 
here  in  the  hospital  corps  at  Base  No.  2,  but  if  so  I  have  yet  to  meet 
them.  One  of  the  first  units  to  come  across,  landing  in  May  of  19 17, 
every  man  enlisted,  so  they  tell  me,  because  he  thought  it  was  the 
quickest  means  of  getting  to  the  front  in  field  hospital  service 
and  most  of  them  enlisted  to  do  some  form  of  specialized  work; 
but,  medical  students,  college  professors,  and  motor  experts,  they 
each  and  all  were  given  the  job  of  hospital  orderly  which  means 
scrubbing  floors,  washing  windows,  shovelling  coal,  doing  the  hard 
and  dirty  work  of  a  hospital,  and,  most  galling  I  fancy  of  all, — 
taking  orders  from  girls  with  whom  you  are  not  allowed  to  associate 
or  even  speak  except  in  the  line  of  business.  The  X-ray  expert 
has  been  delegated  to  the  job  of  keeping  the  hospital  pigs.  I  saw 
him  in  a  pair  of  grimy  overalls  trundling  a  well-worn  wheelbarrow 
down  the  street.  The  man  who  speaks  eight  languages,  and  en- 
Usted  as  interpreter,  spends  his  days  checking  up  clothes  in  the 
laundry.  And  here  as  hospital  orderlies  in  spite  of  their  frantic 
efforts  to  get  transferred,  it  seems  likely  that  they  will  stay. 

But  these  are  dark  days  for  us  all  just  now,  with  the  news  that 
comes  in  every  day  of  the  German  drive.  "What  do  the  officers  in 
the  hospital  think?  What  do  they  say  about  it?"  I  tease  the 
nurses. 

"They  think  that  we  will  hold  them,"  they  reply,  but  none  too 
hopefully. 

At  the  hotel  where  I  am  staying  there  is  a  French  officer  en  per- 
mission, with  his  wife  and  apparently  unlimited  offspring.  With 
them  is  an  EngHsh  governess.  She  is  a  little  nervous  thing  all 
a-twitter  these  days  with  excitement  and  apprehension.  Will  the 
Germans  get  through  to  Paris?  Monsieur's  aged  mother  is  there. 
He  is  thinking  of  going  back  to  get  her,  together  with  a  few  essen- 
tial household  treasures.  She  herself  had  fled  with  the  family 
from  Paris  in  1914.    It  was  a  dreadful  experience;  fourteen  people 


I04  RATTENTOUT 

crowded  in  a  coach  for  six,  and  nothing  to  eat.  Oh  dear!  wasn't 
it  all  just  too  terrible! 

There  is  also  an  old  French  lady  here  who  frankly  fled  from  Paris 
to  escape  the  air-raids;  now  someone  has  taken  all  the  joy  out  of 
life  for  her  by  suggesting  that  Etretat  might  be  shelled  from  the 
sea  by  a  German  submarine. 

The  Tommies  in  the  hospitals,  they  say,  flatly  refuse  to  believe 
that  Paris  is  being  shelled.  It  isn't  possible,  they  declare,  for  a  gun 
to  shoot  as  far  as  that,  and  to  them  that  is  the  end  of  it.  But  to- 
night a  little  crowd  of  the  hospital  boys  who  had  gone  on  pass  to 
Paris  came  back  as  eye-witnesses.  One  of  the  first  shells  had  fallen 
very  close  to  them,  killing  a  number  of  people  who  were  sitting  drink- 
ing in  a  sidewalk  cafe.  The  boys  had  gone  up  to  the  Church  of 
Sacre  Cceur  on  Montmartre  and  from  the  tower  there  had  watched 
the  shelling  of  the  city.  It  had  been  a  beautiful  clear  day:  they 
could  see  where  each  shell  struck.  One  of  the  boys  brought  back 
with  him  for  a  souvenir  a  piece  of  a  French  lieutenant's  skull, 
picked  up,  after  the  shell  had  wrecked  the  cafe,  from  the  sidewalk. 

Tonight  there  was  a  concert  at  the  Y  hut  here.  The  hall  was 
crowded;  the  concert  party,  a  group  of  pretty  girls,  had  just  com- 
pleted, to  much  applause,  the  first  number,  when  a  horn  sounded 
in  the  distance.  Everybody  started  up.  The  Y  man  stepped  for- 
ward and  announced  the  programme  over.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
hut  was  deserted.  "The  convoy  is  in,"  they  said,  which  meant 
that  a  train  load  of  wounded  had  arrived  at  the  station. 

Paris,  Easter  Sunday. 
On  the  way  here  from  Etretat  I  saw  a  sight  which  brought  the 
war  closer  to  me  somehow  than  anything  before;  at  the  junction 
station  connecting  the  line  to  Le  Havre  with  the  fine  to  Amiens, 
a  string  of  box  cars  full  of  women,  Uttle  children  and  decrepit 
old  men,  packed  in  like  cattle,  fleeing  before  the  German  drive, 
many  of  them  empty-handed,  others  with  a  few  pathetic  futile 
treasures,  a  hen  or  two,  a  copper  cooking-pot,  snatched  up  evidently 
in  a  moment  of  half-witless  panic  haste. 


THE  FRONT  105 

Nor  is  Paris  itself  without  its  refugees.  The  German  advance, 
the  air-raids,  the  shelling,  culminating  in  the  Good  Friday  horror, 
have  combined  to  render  the  city  half  deserted. 

"Paris?  We  call  Paris  'the  front'  nowadays,"  one  Frenchman 
on  the  journey  had  remarked  to  me. 

Yesterday  I  went  shopping.  Everywhere  it  was  the  same  reply. 
Nothing  could  be  made  to  order  for  an  indefinite  period,  the  work- 
rooms were  all  deserted,  the  workers  fled.  As  for  those  who  re- 
main, they  seem  to  take  life  calmly  enough;  what  else  can  they 
do?  When,  as  yesterday,  every  sixteen  minutes  a  tremendous 
jarring  crash  tells  you  that  a  shell  has  fallen  somewhere  in  the 
city, — and  the  concussion  is  so  great  that  it  always  sounds  as 
if  it  had  fallen  in  the  next  block!  —  you  see  people  turn  their 
heads  as  they  walk,  staring  in  the  direction  of  the  explosion; 
others  come  out  on  the  balconies  to  see  what  they  can  see  and 
that  is  all. 

Of  course  the  danger  of  all  this  lies  in  its  effect  on  the  civilian 
morale.  In  connection  with  this  I  learned  an  interesting  thing 
today.  While  the  hospitals  outside  are  over-crowded,  the  hospitals 
in  Paris  with  their  splendid  equipment  and  staffs  are  left  half  empty, 
because  they  dare  not  show  the  people  of  Paris  too  many  wounded. 
And  when  convoys  are  brought  into  the  city,  they  are  often 
detained  outside,  sometimes  for  hours,  in  order  that  the  wounded 
may  be  transferred  to  the  hospitals  at  night. 

Yesterday  at  Brentano's  I  got  talking  with  a  boy  who  belonged  to 
the  American  Ambulance  Section  which  is  attached  to  the  French. 
He  told  me  an  incident  which  struck  my  fancy: 

One  night,  at  the  front,  after  a  hard  day's  work,  he  had  just 
dropped  off  to  sleep  when  he  was  awakened.  There  was  a  Uesse 
to  be  taken  back  to  the  hospital,  he  was  in  bad  shape,  they  had 
placed  him  in  an  ambulance.  The  boy  rolled  out  of  his  blankets, 
started  up  the  car.  It  was  a  bitter  night.  Once  he  was  on  his  way 
everything  went  wrong;  the  water  had  frozen  in  the  radiator,  he 
had  to  get  out  and  crawl  along  the  ditches  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
trying,  in  the  dark  to  find  a  pool  that  was  still  unfrozen.    And  all 


io6  RATTENTOUT 

the  while  he  was  tortured  by  the  thought  that  the  life  of  the  wounded 
man  in  the  car  depended  probably  on  his  speed  in  reaching  the 
hospital,  and  this  urged  him  to  an  agony  of  haste.  Finally,  as  the 
dawn  was  breaking,  he  reached  his  goal.  They  came  to  carry  the 
blesse  in.  The  wounded  man  was  dead;  he  had  been  dead,  it  was 
evident,  some  while  before  the  boy  started.  At  the  front,  he  ex- 
plained, they  hate  to  take  the  time  and  trouble  to  bury  bodies.  So 
whenever  it  is  possible  they  work  this  method  of  passing  on  the 
task  to  someone  else.  You  have  to  be  constantly  on  the  look-out 
for  such  tricks.    This  time  they  had  fooled  him. 

Last  night  there  was  an  air-raid.  It  was  a  mild  affair.  I  was 
awakened  by  the  sirens.  They  make  what  is  to  me  quite  the  most 
fascinatingly  horrible  sound  I  have  ever  heard.  That  long  agon- 
ized wail,  now  sinking  to  a  shuddering  whimper,  now  rising  to  a 
banshee  screech,  flashes  vividly  to  my  mind's  eye  a  myriad  little 
demons  sitting  on  the  roofs  of  Paris,  cowering,  shivering,  crying 
out  their  abject  terror.  I  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  but 
although  my  room  is  on  the  top  floor  of  the  hotel,  I  could  see  noth- 
ing and  so  went  back  to  bed  again.  The  anti-aircraft  guns  put 
up  a  tremendous  barrage;  they  have  them  mounted  on  trucks  now 
so  they  can  quickly  be  shifted  from  point  to  point  about  the  city. 
I  am  sure  there  was  a  whole  battery  just  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
Today  the  papers  inform  us  that  the  Gothas  were  driven  back  after 
reaching  the  suburbs. 

This  morning  I  went  to  service  at  Notre  Dame,  entering  through 
piles  of  sand  bags  heaped  so  as  to  hide  the  carvings  about  the  door- 
ways. In  that  vast  cathedral  only  a  few  were  present,  a  fair  share 
of  the  congregation  being  comprised  of  Americans. 

Tonight  an  ambulance  driver  attached  to  one  of  the  Paris  hospi- 
tals came  to  the  hotel  for  dinner.  He  spread  a  startling  tale. 
Every  ambulance  in  the  city  has  been  ordered  to  be  in  readiness; 
for  tomorrow,  it  has  been  learned,  twenty-seven  long-range  guns 
are  to  be  turned  at  once  on  Paris! 


THE  FRONT  107 

Adc-les-Bains,  April  6. 

When  they  said  "Leave  Area"  to  me  my  heart  sank.  The  Lady 
in  the  OflSce  explained  to  me  how  very  important  she  considered 
the  work,  and  the  assignment,  she  added,  need  not  be  permanent. 
"Very  well"  I  said,  "I'm  wiUing  to  go  there  temporarily." 

I  left  Paris  Tuesday,  taking  the  night  train.  Getting  off  was 
something  of  an  ordeal.  The  lighting  at  the  stations,  as  on  the 
streets,  has  been  reduced  almost  to  the  vanishing  point.  The 
great  Gare  de  Lyon  was  filled  with  a  mass  of  distraught  humanity 
over  whom  the  few  violet-blue  bulbs  cast  a  ghostly  glimmer.  There 
were  no  porters  to  take  one's  luggage;  a  number  of  women  had 
possessed  themselves  of  the  baggage  trucks  and  were  pushing  them, 
heaped  high  with  bags  and  household  stuff,  recklessly  through  the 
crowds.  I  could  find  no  officials  anywhere  about.  All  the  French 
orderliness  and  red  tape  seemed  to  have  been  swept  clean  away 
and  the  result  was  chaos.  Somehow,  I  don't  know  quite  how,  I 
found  my  train  and  reached  my  seat. 

Three  very  fat  old  gentlemen  and  one  old  lady  occupied  the 
compartment  with  me.  The  fat  gentlemen  had  one  Uttle  spoiled 
dog  between  them  which  they  kept  passing  from  one  to  the  other, 
in  order  that  each  in  turn  might  kiss  him.  The  old  lady  had  a 
bird  in  a  cage;  presently  she  opened  her  hand-bag  and  brought  out 
her  supper,  a  loaf  of  bread,  jmwrapped,  together  with  a  good- 
sized  turtle.  For  a  moment^  such  were  her  raptures  over  her  pet, 
I  thought  that  she  jvas  going  to  kiss  the  turtle.  The  first  minute 
that  one  of  my  companions  entered  the  compartment,  each  in- 
formed all  the  rest  that  he  or  she  was  not  running  away  from  the 
air-raids  or  the  long  range  guns.  "I?  /  am  not  afraid  of  the 
Kaiser's  Gothas!  I  laugh  at  them! "  A  few  minutes  later  however 
they  began:  Ah,  what  a  fearful  night,  last  night  had  been!  Five 
hours  in  the  Caves!  No  sleep  at  all!  One  might  as  well  be  a  mole 
and  take  up  one's  dwelling  underground.  What  a  life!  Oh  it  was 
terrible,  terrible!  Then  one  old  gentleman  turned  proudly  to  the 
little  fat  canine.  "But  of  a  verity,  my  little  Toto  is  possessed  of 
a  sagacity  Extraordinary.    The  moment  that  he  hears  the  sirens, 


io8  RATTENTOUT 

he  will  run  down  into  the  cellar,  and  nothing  can  induce  him  to 
come  up  again  until  the  'all  clear'  has  sounded!" 

We  pulled  into  Aix  soon  after  dawn  as  the  rising  sun  was  touch- 
ing the  tops  of  the  mountains  and  the  morning  mists  were  hover- 
ing over  the  lake.  Whatever  the  work  may  prove  to  be  like  here, 
the  place  is  surpassingly  lovely.  It  is  too  early  for  the  summer 
resort  pleasure  seekers.  The  French  don't  care  for  it  here  until 
it  grows  really  hot,  they  tell  us.  But  to  me  the  season  is  at  its 
most  appealing  moment.  One  glimpses  pink  peach  blossoms  against 
the  blue  lake  over  which  stand  purple  mountains  with  snow  still 
lying  on  their  summits.  Several  of  the  large  hotels  and  casinos 
have  been  requisitioned  for  French  convalescent  hospitals,  but 
the  largest  of  all  has  been  taken  over  by  the  Y.  JFrom  this  canteen 
excursions  are  constantly  setting  out,  motor-boats  on  the  lake, 
motor  cars  to  Chambery,  the  cog-wheel  railway  up  Mt.  Revard, 
picnics,  hikes  and  fishing  parties,  yet  many  of  the  boys  seem  to 
find  it  pleasantest  to  do  nothing, — ^just  to  sit  around  in  lazy  com- 
fort all  day  long,  watching  the  others  playing  billiards,  listening 
to  the  orchestra  in  the  afternoon  ,beneath  the  gold  mosaic  casino 
dome,  sitting  luxuriously  in  a  box  at  the  vaudeville  in  the  evening, 
gaining  a  maximum  of  pleasure  with  a  minimum  of  exertion.  Many 
of  the  boys  came  here  with  their  heads  full  of  pessimistic  expecta- 
tions. 

"They  told  us  it  would  be  Reveille  and  Retreat  and  one  day's 
K.  P.  for  each  of  us,"  confided  one  lad  to  me. 

Some  brought  their  mess-kits  and  some  even  their  blankets. 
When  they  find  themselves  guests  in  hotels  that  are  among  the 
finest  in  Europe,  lodged  in  comfortable  rooms,  eating  real  food  off 
tables  furnished  with  china-ware  and  linen,  at  first  they  are  fairly 
dazed. 

"I'm  feared  somebody'U  pinch  me  an'  I'll  wake  up,"  declared 
one  lad  today. 

More  than  one  has  told  me,  that  the  first  night  he  got  here,  he 
could  not  go  to  sleep  in  bed  at  all  and  only  finally  achieved  slumber 
by  rolling  himself  in  blankets  on  the  floor. 


THE  FRONT  109 

There  are  no  troops  from  the  line  here  at  present;  only  boys 
from  forestry  regiments,  motor  mechanics  and  a  few  lads  from 
medical  detachments.  They  are  holding  up  the  leaves  of  all  com- 
batant troops  on  account  of  the  drive.  It  may  be  that  presently 
they  will  hold  up  all  leaves  altogether.  Then  we  will  have  to  shut 
up  shop  here  temporarily. 

It  is  the  pleasant  custom  here  for  the  Y  ladies  to  go  down  to  the 
train  every  night  to  see  the  boys  off. 

"It's  a  shame  you  can't  stay  longer,"  we  say  to  them, 

"I'll  say  it  is!" 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  you  have  to  go.'* 

"You  ain't  half  so  sorry  as  I  am.  Lady." 

"Maybe  some  day  you'll  be  coming  back  again." 

"I'll  tell  the  world  one  thing;  I'm  going  to  be  good  as  gold  when 
I  get  back  to  camp,  so  they'll  let  me." 

One  of  the  Y  women  tonight  repeated  what  one  boy  on  leaving 
had  confided  to  her: 

"If  I  said  to  you  that  this  had  been  my  happiest  week  since  I 
joined  the  army  it  wouldn't  mean  much,"  he  told  her,  "but  that's 
not  what  I'm  going  to  say.  What  I'm  going  to  say  is  that  this 
has  been  the  happiest  week  of  all  my  life." 

So  far  I  have  found  just  one  man  who  wasn'tenjoying  himself 
here.  He  had  been  stationed  for  six  months  at  Paris.  Aix,  he 
declared,  "Weren't  no  town  at  all,  nothin'  but  a  one-horse  place." 
He  evidently  had  no  soul  for  the  beauties  of  nature. 

Paris,  April  22. 

They  held  the  leaves  up.  The  boys  kept  leaving;  fewer  and 
fewer  came,  then  finally  none.  Last  week  they  disbanded  the 
force  of  workers  at  Aix;  a  few  stayed  to  look  after  things  until 
such  time  as  the  crowds  should  start  to  pour  in  again;  the  rest  were 
sent  back  to  Paris  to  be  reassigned. 

If  I  thought  the  trip  down  was  a  chore,  it  wasn't  a  patch  on  the 
trip  back.  We  waited  half  the  night  for  the  train  at  the  Aix  rail- 
way station.    When  it  finally  pulled  in,  I  found  my  seat  was  in  a 


no  RATTENTOUT 

compartment  which  was  full,  and  had  evidently  been  so  for  hours, 
of  French  people.  Now  life  in  France  tends  to  cure  you  of  belief 
in  several  popular  superstitions;  one  is  the  idea  that  it  is  dangerous 
to  have  wet  feet,  and  another  that  there  is  anything  in  the  germ 
theory;  but  there  is  one  notion  to  which  I  still  cling,  an  obstinate 
belief  in  the  desirability  of  fresh  air.  I  putjny  head  in  the  compart- 
ment, then  withdrew,  shutting  the  door.  For  the  twelve  hours  it 
took  to  reach  Paris  I  stood  up  outside  in  the  corridor. 

Arrived  in  Paris,  they  assigned  me  temporarily  to  the  Avenue 
Montaigne  Club  House.  This  is  a  beautiful  building,  the  home 
of  one  of  Napoleon's  generals;  but  the  best  thing  about  it  is  the 
tea-room  restaurant,  for  here  they  serve  apple-pie,  chocolate  cake 
and  ice-cream.  Since  the  latest  food  restrictions  were  issued, 
forbidding  the  French  to  make  desserts  employing  milk,  cream, 
sugar,  eggs  or  flour,  such  dainties  have  been  unobtainable  any- 
where else  in  Paris;  but  the  Americans  drawing  supplies  from  their 
own  commissary,  are  of  course  imtouched  by  such  regulations. 
Indeed  the  saddest  sign  in  France  these  days  I  often  think  is  that 
over  the  deserted  shops  which  reads  Patisserie.  To  be  sure  some 
of  these  stores  still  make  a  show  at  doing  business,  filling  their 
windows  with  raisins,  dried  prunes  and  other  prosaic  edibles,  to- 
gether with  heaps  of  pseudo-chocolates  wrapped  gayly  in  tin-foil, 
but  which  when  purchased  proved  to  be  nothing  but  what  one  boy 
termed  "the  same  old  camouflage," — an  unappetizing  paste  of 
dried  fruits  and  ground  nuts.  Yesterday  a  curly-headed  lad,  who 
looked  about  sixteen,  came  into  the  canteen  carr3dng  a  big  bunch 
of  pink  carnations.  These  were  for  the  waitresses,  he  said,  because 
they  were  the  first  American  ladies  that  he  had  seen  in  France. 
We  each  pinned  a  spray  to  the  front  of  our  pink  aprons,  and  then, 
since  he  pretended  famine,  let  him  have  "seconds", — quite  against 
the  rules — on  everything,  with  all  the  ice-cream  and  cake  that  he 
could  swallow. 

Yesterday  I  saw  Mr.  T.  who  was  with  us  for  a  while  at  Goncourt. 
He  told  me  that  French  troops  en  repos  were  occupying  that  area 
at  present.    They  had  asked  for  the  use  of  our  hut  and  of  course 


THE  FRONT  in 

it  had  been  granted  them.  A  Y  man,  happening  by  the  other  day, 
had  stopped  in.  They  had  converted  our  beautiful  hut  into  a  regu- 
lar French  Cantine  with  three  men  to  hand  the  bottles  over  the 
counter  "and  a  smell  enough  to  knock  you  down."  Who  shall  say 
that  this  is  the  least  of  life's  little  ironies? 

This  morning  I  met  N.  who  had  reached  Rattentout  the  day  I 
left.  She  teUs  me  that  all  the  villages  occupied  by  our  troops  in 
the  sector  have,  one  by  one,  been  shelled.  Rattentout  was  shelled 
and  two  Frenchwomen  killed.  Because  of  the  constant  shelling  all 
the  Y  women  workers  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  canteens  and 
sent  back  to  safety  at  Souilly  where  they  have  nothing  to  do  but  sit 
and  possess  their  souls  in  patience. 

Tonight  they  gave  me  my  new  assignment.  It  is  at  Gondrecourt. 
I  leave  tomorrow.  I  am  glad,  so  glad  over  the  prospect  of  being 
back  on  a  real  job  once  more!  Here  at  the  Avenue  Montaigne 
as  in  the  gilded  casino  at  Aix  I  have  been  desperately  homesick, 
to  be  back  in  a  real  hut  again! 


CHAPTER  IV 

GONDRECOURT 

THE  ARTH^LERY 

GondrEcourt,  April  28. 

Gondrecourt  is  quite  a  place.  It  boasts  a  brewery,  a  hotel,  a 
mediaeval  tower  and  a  number  of  little  stores.  Each  one  of  these 
stores  contains  at  least  one  pretty  girl  on  its  selling  force  and  the 
ratio  between  the  sales  of  goods  and  the  charms  of  the  ladies  is, 
I  fancy,  quite  exact.  From  the  miHtary  point  of  view  Gondre- 
court is  important  as  being  the  site  of  the  First  Army  Corps  Train- 
ing Schools.  But  to  me  the  really  distinguishing  feature  of  Gondre- 
court is  the  fact  that  it  boasts  a  bath-tub.  If  anybody  had  said 
bath-tub  to  me  the  day  before  I  arrived  here,  I  would  have  said 
with  the  doughboy  that, — short  of  Paris — "there  ain't  no  such 
animal."  But  now  I  have  beheld  it  with  my  own  eyes,  a  white- 
enamelled  bath-tub,  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  bath-tub,  in  the  basement  at 
Headquarters.  The  tub  is  supposed  to  be  a  strictly  family  affair, — 
on  the  door  are  posted  hours  for  the  Lady  'Secretaries  and  hours 
for  the  Men  Secretaries, — ^but  in  spite  of  the  plain  EngHsh  before 
their  eyes,  it  seems  that  army  officers  occasionally  slip  in  and  steal 
a  bath  off  iis,  yes,  even  impinging  on  the  sacred  bath  hours  of  the 
ladies! 

My  first  day  here  they  sent  me  to  "The  Cafe."  This  was  once 
a  very  wild  place  indeed.  When  the  Y.  first  came  to  Gondrecourt 
it  tried  to  buy  the  proprietor  out,  but  the  proprietor  refused;  he 
was  doing  too  profitable  a  business.  Then  pne  night  Providence 
sent  some  Boche  planes  wandering  in  this  direction.  There  was  a 
panic  among  the  populace;  the  proprietor,  with  visions  of  his  place 
wrecked  by  a  bomb,  sold  out  in  a  hurry  and  left  town.  Since  then 
the  Cafe  has  led  a  reformed  and  decorous  existence  but  the  old 


THE  ARTILLERY  113 

name  still  clings.  My  second  day  I  spent  at  the  "Double  Hut," 
the  big  hut  built  up  on  the  hill  close  by  the  Infantry  School.  The 
third  day  I  was  introduced  to  my  own  canteen. 

According  to  directions,  I  climbed  the  hill  by  my  billet,  went 
past  the  athletic  field,  past  the  warehouse  and  out  along  the  edge 
of  the  rolling  open  upland.  About  half  a  mile  out  of  town  I  came 
to  a  group  of  seven  French  barracks,  covered  with  black  tar  paper, 
built  at  the  edge  of  the  railway  cut.  This  was  the  Artillery  School. 
I  crossed  the  field,  entered  the  nearest  barracks  which  bore  a  Y. 
sign  at  one  end,  and  found  myself  in  a  Greenwich  Village  Tea 
House.  I  stood  and  stared.  Some  modern-school  interior  decorator 
had  been  at  work.  The  place  was  a  riot  of  red,  yellow,  salmon- 
color  and  black,  worked  out  from  a  nasturtium  motif.  In  the 
wall  panels  were  paintings,  some  conventionalized  fruits  and  flow- 
ers, evidently  done  by  the  decorator;  others,  landscapes,  Japanese 
scenes  and  some  rather  awful  Indians  just  as  evidently  executed 
by  the  boys.  The  whole  effect  to  be  sure  was  a  bit  sketchy  and  in 
spots  frankly  unfinished,  and  yet  to  one  used  to  such  simplicity 
in  the  huts  as  I,  the  ensemble  was  startling.  Back  of  the  black  and 
orange  partition  which  screens  the  canteen  and  the  kitchen  from 
the  hut  proper,  I  found  the  staff,  secretary  and  canteen  worker. 
The  lady  whom  I  am  to  replace,  it  appears,  belongs  in  reality  to 
the  Motor  Transport  Section.  She  turned  canteen  worker  to  help 
out  in  a  pinch,  and  now  is  anxious  to  return  again. 

When  dinner-time  came  the  Motor  Transport  girl  told  me  that 
we  had  been  invited  to  dine  at  the  camp.  We  went  over  to  the 
mess-hall.  "Let's  help  feed  the  chow-Hne  for  a  lark!"  said  the 
M.  T.  girl.  So  we  stood  behind  the  serving-bench  and  ladled  out 
big  spoonfuls  of  mashed  potato  and  gravy.  This  amused  the  boys 
immensely;  and  as  they  passed  they  would  sing  out: 

"When  did  they  put  you  on  K.  P?" 

"What  have  you  done  to  deserve  this?" 

The  kitchen  was  white-washed  and  specklessly  clean,  the  earth 
floor  was  covered  with  cinders.  These  cinders  which  are  in  use 
for  floors  and  walks  in  all  the  camps  about,  come,  I  am  told,  from 


114  GONDRECOURT 

a  great  heap  down  by  the  river  which  marks  the  site  of  one  of 
Napoleon's  cannon  foundries. 

*'Why  are  the  boxers  in  a  company  always  found  on  the  kitchen 
force?  "  I  asked  one  of  the  cooks. 

"That's  so  they  can  handle  the  toys  when  they  come  back  for 
seconds." 

As  soon  as  the  chow-line  tiad  been  fed,  the  M.  T.  girl  and  I  had 
ours  with  the  Top  Sergeant.  After  dinner  the  Top  Sergeant,  who 
had  formerly  been  mess  sergeant,  was  moved  to  unburden  his  soul 
as  to  the  sorrows  of  a  mess  sergeant. 

"When  I  was  mess  sergeant,"  he  reminisced,  "I  sure  got  to 
know  the  way  to  a  man's  heart  all  right.  Why,  the  days  when  I 
gave  them  a  good  dinner  there  wasn't  a  man  in  camp  who  wouldn't 
positively  beam  at  me;  but  if  something  had  gone  wrong  and  the 
chow  wasn't  up  to  scratch,  half  the  fellers  in  the  company  wouldn't 
speak  to  me  the  rest  of  the  day." 

Then  he  grinned.  "I  wouldn't  want  Mother  to  know  the  way  I 
used  to  get  stuflE  for  the  boys  last  winter." 

He  went  on  to  tell  us.  French  freight  trains  have  no  brakemen 
and  the  conductor  rides  in  a  caboose  directly  behind  the  coal  car. 
Trains  pulling  into  town  from  the  north  hit  a  grade  curve  close  to 
the  camp,  up  which  they  must  pull  very  slowly.  The  camp  guard 
kept  a  lookout;  when  a  freight  train  with  flat  cars  was  sighted, 
word  was  immediately  passed  to  the  mess  sergeant  who  with  a 
nimiber  of  K.  P.s  hurried  to  the  tracks  and  boarded  the  slow-mov- 
ing train;  if  the  cars  proved  to  hold  anything  of  value  for  the  mess, — 
be  it  coal  or  cabbages, — all  the  way  up  the  grade  the  sergeant  and 
his  assistants  were  busy,  hastily  throwing  or  shoveling  what  they 
could  over  the  sides  of  the  cars.  At  thetop  of  the  grade  they  would 
jump  off  and  returning  along  the  tracks,  gather  up  the  spoils. 

Tomorrow  the  Motor  Transport  girl  departs  and  I  "  take  over" 
the  canteen. 

GONDRECOURT,  MaY  4. 

The  Artillery  School  consists  of  some  few  hundred  officers  and 
non-coms  enrolled  for  each  four-weeks'  course,  in  addition  to  the 


THE  ARTILLERY  115 

two  batteries  who  are  hereof  or  demonstration  work;.  Battery  D  from 
a  regiment  of  "75s"  and  Battery  A  from  a  regiment  of  the  big 
"155s."  Selected  for  this  exhibition jArork  on  account  of  their  ex- 
ceptional ability,  they  are,  I  suppose,  the  equal  of  any  batteries  in 
the  world.  When  the  boys  enlisted  these  batteries  were  declared 
to  be  about  to  be  "motorized,"  but  at  present  the  motor  power  is 
being  suppKed  by  a  particularly  unresponsive  set  of  French  cart 
horses,  whose  daily  care  is  the  greatest  trial  of  the  boys'  lives.  Last 
night  we  had  a  movie-show;  one  reel  gave  the  story  of  a  discontented 
boy  on  the  farm — showing  him  at  one  moment  disgustedly  groom- 
ing Dobbin.  For  a  full  minute  it  seemed  as  if  the  roof  of  the  hut 
was  going  to  be  lifted  right  off. 

The  officers'  quarters  and  the  class-rooms  lie  across  the  railroad 
track  from  the  camp,  in  the  grounds  of  the  Chateau.  Here  they 
have  a  canteen  of  their  own,  a  cool  little  place  in  cream  color  and 
blue  presided  over  by  a  most  refreshing  and  delightful  EngHsh 
lady.  The  Chateau  itself  was  partially  destroyed  by  fire  a  few 
years  ago  and  though  the  lower  story  is  available  for  offices,  the 
upper  story  stands  roofless,  with  empty  windows  staring  against 
the  sky.  Every  now  and  then  a  rumour  goes  the  rounds: — Per- 
shing is  going  to  move  his  headquarters  to  Gondrecourt, — the 
Chateau  is  to  be  repaired  for  }iis  use!  The  Chateau  and  the  school 
buildings  stand  on  high  ground.  To  the  south  the  ground  falls 
away  suddenly;  below  is  "off  limits"  and  is  Fairyland.  Here  are 
meadows  warm  with  the  color  of  spring  flowers,  here  are  groves 
such  as  one  sees  in  the  pictures  of  Eighteenth  Century  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses,  and  here  is  the  river  flowing  so  placidly  that 
its  waters  seem  to  form  still  lagoons,  white-flecked  with  swans  and 
arched  with  rustic  bridges.  Here  while  the  boys  are  at  their  mess, 
I  have  been  steaHng  to  eat  my  picnic  supper;  an  orange,  a  sand- 
wich and  a  piece  of  chocolate.  The  guard  walking  post  at  the 
foot  of  the  embankment  shuts  one  eye  as  I  go  past, — and  usually 
gets  half  of  my  supper !  For  that  matter  I  gather  he  is  there  largely 
for  the  sake  of  appearance,  for  there's  not  a  boy  in  camp  I'm  sure 
who  hasn't  explored  those  groves,  fed  the  swans,  and  angled  for 


ii6  GONDRECOURT 

fish  in  the  river.  And  the  only  reason,  I'm  certain,  that  they  don't 
surreptitiously  go  in  swimming  there  is  that  the  water,  fed  by 
springs,  is  cold  as  ice!  Nor  is  the  touch  of  romance  that  should  go 
with  such  a  setting  absent.  One  of  the  cooks  in  the  ojEcers'  mess 
kitchen  is  deep  in  an  affair  with  Lucile,  the  caretaker's  daughter, 
a  girl  like  a  wild  rose,  shy,  slender,  freshly-tinted.  Every  other 
night  when  he  is  off  duty  he  carries  her  chocolate  from  the  canteen 
and  she  "gives  him  a  French  lesson." 

*' Serious?"  I  asked  inquisitively. 

''Fat  chance!"  he  glowered  at  me  frankly.  "She  tells  me  that 
she's  engaged  to  twelve  fellows  now  already  and  that  twelve's 
enough." 

The  proprietor  of  the  Chateau,  Monsieur  S.,  has  the  distinction 
of  being  the  father  of  ten  girls.  I  like  to  fancy  that  the  spirits  of 
the  ten  lovely  daughters, — ^for  lovely  they  must  be,  as  no  French- 
man, I  am  sure,  would  have  the  courage  to  father  ten  homely  ones! 
— haunt  the  Chateau  gardens. 

The  boys,  however,  don't  have  to  rely  on  phantoms  for  thrills 
of  this  sort.  Yesterday,  they  tell  me,  that  during  the  progress  of  an 
exciting  ball-game  on  the  Y.  athletic  field  a  beautiful  lady  dressed 
d  la  Parisienne  strolled  by.  The  batter  dropped  his  bat,  the  pitcher 
forgot  his  ball;  the  game  came  to  a  dead  halt  until  the  beautiful 
lady  had  passed  out  of  sight. 

GONDRECOURT,  MaY  13. 

The  Secretary  is  sick.  He  lies  in  his  Httle  bed-room  office  and 
reads  the  latest  magazines  and  gossips  with  his  visitors  while  I 
attempt  to  run  the  hut  single-handed.  At  times  during  this  last 
week  I  have  been  strongly  tempted  to  get  sick  myself.  Indeed  I 
think  I  probably  would  have  done  so  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Snow. 
Snow,  Snowball  or  Ivory  as  he  is  variously  called,  is  Battery  D's 
albino  cook.  "  Say,  ain't  I  the  whitest-haired  beggar  you  ever  did 
see?  "  he  asked  me  the  other  day  in  a  sort  of  naive  wonder  at  him- 
self. "Anyway,  nobody  ever  had  a  cleaner-looking  cook,"  re- 
marked the  Top  Sergeant,  ex-Mess  Sergeant.   Snow  has  the  sweet- 


THE  ARTILLERY  117 

est  disposition  in  the  world.  "If  Snow  was  starving  to  death," 
declared  one  of  the  boys  to  me  today,  "and  somebody  gave  him  a 
sandwich,  and  he  thought  you  were  the  least  bit  hungry,  he'd  give 
you  that  sandwich."  Ever  since  the  Secretary  has  been  sick^.  Snow 
has  been  bringing  him  toast  and  eggs  and  things  Vhile  he  has 
brought  me  lemon  pies,  the  most  wonderful  lemon  pies  that  ever 
I  tasted.  Already  Snow  has  come  to  be  looked  upon  by  the  boys 
as  an  authority  on  all  things  pertaining  to  the  canteen  and  has  to 
stand  a  battery  of  searching  questions,  such  as,  whether  he  thinks 
that  my  hair  is  really  all  my  own? 

Just  to  add  to  all  our  other  troubles  this  week  we  have  run 
amuck  of  the  Major.  This  I  suspect  was  all  my  fault.  I  was  fu- 
rious because  when  he  came  into  the  hut  he  made  the  boys  stand 
at  attention.  This  was  something  I  had  never  seen  done  before 
and  is,  I  am  sure,  contrary  to  all  the  rules.  I  was  so  angry  that 
when  the  Major  came  up  to  the  counter  I  stood  and  glared  at  him. 

"You  will  find  the  Secretary  in  his  office,"  I  said  jand  turned 
and  walked  out  the  back  door.  It  was  the  Major's  turn  to  be 
angry  then.  He  stalked  out  behind  the  counter,  looking  for  trouble, 
and  began  to  hold  an  inspection  in  the  kitchen.  The  Secretary 
appeared,  the  Major  let  loose.  That  kitchen,  he  declared,  was  not 
up  to  army  standards  in  cleanUness.  This  was  a  matter  of  utmost 
importance.  Hereafter  the  medical  officer  would  inspect  the 
kitchen  daily.  Then  he  proceeded  to  prescribe  a  schedule  of 
canteen  hours  outside  of  which  nothing  at  all  must  be  sold. 

Now  I  admit  that  kitchen  hasn't  been  quite  all  it  might  be.  It 
is  a  small,  overcrowded  place,  built  of  rough  dirty  boards  and  Jhere 
are  no  shelves,  nor  of  course  running  water,  nor  conveniences  of 
any  kind.  Moreover,  the  Major,  I  learn,  has  the  reputation  of 
being  a  tartar  in  this  respect;  "Major  Mess  Kit"  they  call  him 
because  of  the  rigour  of  his  inspections. 

The  next  morning  the  medical  officer  arrived  at  the  crack  of 
dawn.  He  found  the  chocolate  cups  from  the  night  before  unwashed. 
He  was  shocked.  He  too  read  the  Secretary  a  lecture.  Then  he 
departed  to  do  the  sensible,  the  saving  thing,  which  was  to  rec- 


ii8  GONDRECOURT 

ommend  to  the  Major  that  we  be  allowed  a  detail.  So  it  all  worked 
out  for  the  best  in  the  end.  "  Neddy"  as  we  have  christened  the 
detail  is  now  a  part  of  the  family.  A  shy,  dreamy  lad,  he  is  at 
hand  to  help  from  eariy  morning  until  closing  time  at  nine  at  night, 
and  I  actually  have  to  shoo  him  out  to  his  meals.  The  only  trou- 
ble with  Neddy  is  that  he  is  so  good  I  am  sure  that  he  is  going  to 
die  young.  And  besides  Neddy  I  now  have  a  pet  bugaboo.  This 
has  proved  so  useful  these  last  few  days  that  I  don't  know  how 
I  ever  kept  a  canteen  without  one.  Now  any  time  that  ojQScers 
come  to  my  kitchen  door  to  tease  for  cigarettes  out  of  selling  hours 
I  can  gleefully  tell  them: 

"Oh,  but  I  wouldn't  dare!  The  Major,  you  know!  He's  ex- 
pressly forbidden  it!  If  I  did  and  he  learned  about  it,  he  would 
surely  have  me  court-martialed!" 

Of  course  when  the  boys  come  out  of  hours  that  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent matter. 

Then,  too,  as  the  Major  is  detested  by  the  men,  this  furnishes 
a  common  bond  of  sympathy.  This  morning  a  boy  came  to  my 
back  door  to  borrow  our  axe  in  order  to  chop  up  the  Major's  wood. 

"You  can  have  it  on  one  condition,"  I  told  him. 

"What's  that?" 

"That  you  chop  off  the  Major's  head  with  it  too." 

GONDRECOURT,  MaY  24. 

I  have  always  cherished  a  secret  longing  to  have  pets  in  my  can- 
teen: I  have  heard  of  huts  that  kept  kittens  and  canaries,  and  once 
I  visited  in  one  where  an  ant-eater,  if  not  an  habitue,  was  at  least 
a  frequent  and  honoured  guest  and  sat  in  the  ladies'  laps  at  the 
movie-shows.  At  various  times  I  have  considered  and  regretfully 
abandoned  the  project  <of  rabbits,  a  puppy,  goldfish  and  k  goat. 
But  till  recently  the  nearest  I  have  come  to  realizing  my  dreams 
was  when  I  found  two  large  snails  with  black  and  yellow  shells 
by  the  roadside.  I  carried  them  into  the  canteen  and  set  them 
on  a  flowering  branch  in  a  vase.  For  two  days  the  boys  took  a 
casual  interest.    They  nicknamed  them  Bill  and  Daisy. 


THE  ARTILLERY  119 

"The  French  eat  snails  you  know,"  I  told  them. 

"You  don't  say!" 

"Yes  and  I  had  some  myself  the  other  day." 

"Aw  shucks!  You  didn't  really^  did  you?  Why,  before  I'd  eat 
them  things!    Say,  what  did  they  taste  like  anyway?" 

"They  would  have  tasted  pretty  good,"  I  answered,  "if  only 
while  you  were  eating  them  you  could  have  stopped  thinking  what 
they  were!" 

One  boy  staring  at  my  pets  asked  innocently; 

"Will  butterflies  come  but  of  those?" 

After  the  snails  our  only  livestock  for  a  while  was  the  canteen 
rat,  whom  I  have  never  met  myself,  but  of  whom  I  have  heard 
large  rumours.  The  other  day  however  I  received  a  present  of 
two  real  pets.  One  of  the  Y.  drivers  had  been  out  to  a  wood-cut- 
ting camp  in  the  forest.  There  an  Italian  lad  had  given  him  two 
young  birds  in  a  beautiful  cage  he  had  made  himself  with  nothing 
but  a  pen-knife  and  a  hot  wire,  and  the  driver  brought  the  birds 
to  me.  I  don't  know  what  sort  they  were  but  they  were  tame  and 
most  amusing.  To  feed  them  was  the  immediate  question.  I 
asked  the  boys  to  dig  me  some  earth  worms,  but  this  they  seemed 
to  consider  beneath  their  dignity.  Finally  Neddy  went  out  with 
a  can,  only  to  return  wormless.  He  couldn't  find  any,  he  declared. 
I  considered  the  advisability  of  asking  the  Top  Sergeant  for  a 
worm-digging  detail,  but  decided  against  it.  Then  I  confided  my 
troubles  to  my  friend,  the  Warehouse  Man. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  "I'll  ask  Pierre." 

Now  Pierre  is  a  little  orphan  refugee  from  the  devastated  dis- 
trict. He  lives  with  one  of  the  families  on  the  edge  of  the  town 
and  I  am  afraid  is  none  too  well  treated.  When  he  isn't  herding 
the  cows  over  the  meadows,  he  is  usually  hanging  about  the  ware- 
house. A  handsome,  rather  wild  looking  lad,  dressed  in  a  brown 
cap  and  an  old  brown  suit,  I  always  think  of  him  as  Peter  Pan. 
The  next  morning  Pierre  appeared  at  my  kitchen  door  with  a  can 
full  of  long  fat  wriggly  angleworms  and  had  his  pockets  filled  with 
chocolate  by  way  of  recompense.    Later  I  learned  that  the  Ware- 


120  GONDRECOURT 

house  Man,  not  being  able  to  pronounce  the  French  word  for  birds, 
had  told  Pierre  that  I  wanted  the  worms  for  fishing,  and  Pierre 
after  taking  one  look  at  the  bird-cage  had  gone  straight  back  and 
told  the  Ware-house  Man  that  he  was  a  Uar.  But  cunning  as  my 
pets  were,  I  couldn't  quite  reconcile  myself  to  the  idea  of  keeping 
wild  birds  in  a  cage.    This  morning  I  looked  at  Neddy: 

*'Let's  let  them  out." 

*' Let's,  "  he  answered. 

Now  the  only  pet  I  have  in  prospect  is  the  baby  wild  boar  which 
a  boy  from  one  of  the  aviation  camps  nearby  has  promised  me. 

GONDRECOURT,  JUNE  2. 

Night  before  last,  at  half-past  ten,  as  I  was  sitting  here  in  my 
billet  trying  to  write  a  letter,  I  heard  a  voice  calling  me  from  the 
street  below. 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  Sergeant  B .    I've  brought  you  a  gas-mask." 

"What!" 

"There's  a  bunch  of  German  planes  headed  in  this  direction. 
They're  afraid  of  gas  bombs.    We  got  the  alarm  out  at  the  school." 

I  went  down  to  the  door.  The  sergeant  gave  me  two  gas-masks. 
I  gave  one  to  the  English  lady  who  has  the  room  across  the  hall 
from  me.  Then  I  sat  up  waiting  for  the  fun  to  begin.  Nothing 
happened.  I  went  to  sleep  with  the  gas-mask  lying  on  the  pillow 
beside  me. 

The  next  morning  the  Chief  declared  that  all  the  Y.  personnel 
here  must  go  to  gas  drill  and  have  masks  issued  to  them.  Last 
night  they  rounded  us  up  for  a  lesson.  We  stood  in  a  big  circle  at 
the  Gas  School  over  on  the  hill  while  the  gas  instructors  instructed 
us  and  the  boys  looked  on  and  grinned.  Gas  drill  consists  of 
learning  how  to  put  on  and  take  off  your  mask  in  the  prescribed 
and  formal  manner.  It  is  all  done  by  count.  If  you  can't  do  it  in 
six  seconds  you  are  a  casualty.  As  we  popped  our  masks  on  and 
pulled  them  off  again  the  hair  of  all  the  ladies  present  proceeded 
to  slowly  but  relentlessly  fall  down  their  backs.   The  English  Lady 


THE  ARTILLERY  121 

stood  next  to  me.  "It's  all  stuff  and  nonsense,"  I  could  hear  her 
muttering;  "stuff  and  nonsense!" 

The  noncom  instructors  walked  around  and  informed  each  and 
all  of  us  that  if  we  didn't  change  the  style  of  our  coiffures  we 
certainly  would  get  gassed. 

"And  now,"  said  the  instructor  cheerfully,  "I  am  going  to  send 
you  through  the  gas-house." 

I  looked  desperately  for  a  chance  to  sneak  away,  but  there 
wasn't  any;  besides,  several  boys  from  my  batteries  were  watching. 

"Oh  this  is  nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  declared  the  instructor. 
"We've  only  got  the  tear  gas  on  tonight.  You  will  go  through 
once  with  your  masks  on,  and  then  a  second  time  without  them." 

We  put  our  masks  on  and  marched  in  a  long  line  into  the  gas- 
house.  There  was  a  table  in  the  middle  with  candles  burning  on 
it,  which  gleamed  golden  through  the  thick  yellowish  clouds  of 
gas.  We  marched  around  the  table  and  out  again.  There  was 
nothing  to  it;  the  masks  were  a  perfect  protection. 

"Now,"  said  the  instructor,"  you  will  go  through  without 
your  masks.  This  is  to  give  you  confidence  in  them."  The  idea 
being  that  discovering  how  very  nasty  it  was  without  one,  you 
would  be  taught  to  appreciate  the  blessing  of  a  mask.  I  had  an 
inspiration.  I  would  shut  my  eyes  and  hang  on  to  the  man  in 
front  of  me!  But  alas,  for  my  pretty  plan,  the  line  was  too  long; 
as  I  was  about  to  enter:  "Break  the  line  here!"  shouted  the  in- 
structor. I  had  to  lead  the  second  Hne  into  the  gas  house.  I  made 
double-quick  time  around  that  table.  Just  as  I  was  about  to  dart 
out  the  door  an  Enghsh  noncom  instructor  seized  my  arm  and, 
halting  me,  started  to  explain  something. 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  choked.  "It's  all  very  interesting,  but  I  don't 
feel  like  stopping  now!"  I  pulled  away  and  made  a  break  out  the 
door.  I  was  weeping  horribly.  My  eyes  felt  as  if  someone  had 
rubbed  onion  juice  on  them.  They  stung  and  burned  for  hours 
afterward. 

"The  next  time,"  said  the  instructor  genially,  "we'll  put  you 
through  the  mustard  gas." 


122  GONDRECOURT 

Now  in  the  mustard  gas  lesson  a  fellow  must  walk  into  the  gas- 
house  without  his  mask,  and  put  it  on  after  he  has  entered.  If  he 
fails  to  hold  his  breath  long  enough,  or  is  nervous  and  clumsy  and 
so  doesn't  get  his  mask  on  quickly  enough,  why  it  means  a  trip  to 
the  hospital  for  him.  The  mustard  gas  test  is  an  ordeal  which 
causes  the  boys  considerable  apprehension. 

"Oh  thank  you!    You're  very  kind,"  I  said. 

As  we  took  our  departure  down  the  hill  I  noticed  a  darky  dough- 
boy in  a  group  who  were  driUing.  He  was  in  an  awful  fix;  every 
time  he  tried  to  fasten  the  nose-clip  on  his  nostrils,  it  would  slip 
right  off  again! 

When  the  next  lesson  is  held  I  have  decided  to  be  among  the 
missing. 

GONDRECOURT  JUNE  9. 

We  have  a  new  detail.  His  name  is  Jones.  About  six  weeks 
ago  he  was  kicked  by  a  mule  and  had  three  of  his  ribs  broken.  He 
was  sent  to  the  hospital  at  Neufch^teau.  Learning  that  there  was 
a  chance  that  his  battery  might  be  sent  to  the  front  shortly,  he 
pestered  the  docters  until  they  let  him  go,  his  besetting  fear 
being  that  he  might  become  separated  from  his  outfit.  He  re- 
turned three  days  ago.  The  next  day  he  went  out  on  the  range  as 
one  of  a  gun  crew.  Yesterday  he  came  into  the  hut  and  collapsed. 
The  Secretary  put  him  on  his  bed  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day.  Moved  by  purely  altruistic  motives,  the  Secretary  then 
went  to  his  captain  and  asked  that  Jones  be  assigned  to  the  Y.  as 
a  supplementary  detail.  Now  this  is  very  nice  for  Jones,  but  I  am 
not  so  sure  whether  it  is  nice  for  the  Y.  Jones,  it  seems,  goes  by 
the  nick-name  of  "Mildred."  At  one  period  of  his  past  life  he  was 
engaged  in  selling  soap,  a  fact  which  inspires  the  boys  to  shout  at 
frequent  intervals:  "Three  cheers  for  Jones!  Soap!  Soap!  Soap!" 
He  brings  echoes  of  his  commercial  training  to  the  canteen  counter. 
No  east-side  shopkeeper  was  ever  more  anxious  to  make  sales  than 
he.  If  a  boy  asks  for  tooth-paste  when  we  happen  to  be  out  of  it, 
he  is  sure  to  answer; 


THE  ARTILLERY  123 

"No,  but  we  have  some  very  fine  shoe  polish." 

Or  if  somebody  wants  talcum  powder  when  talcum  there  is  none: 

"I'm  sorry  we're  out  of  it  today,  but  can't  I  interest  you  in 
some  tomato  ketchup?'* 

Some  day  I  think  I  shall  write  on  essay  on  the  psychology 
of  suggestion  as  demonstrated  in  canteen  sales.  Nothing,  it 
seems,  ever  really  wins  the  boys'  approval  unless  it  bears  the 
label;  "Made  in  the  U.  S.  A." — nothing  that  is,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  eggs.  Anything  originating  in  Europe,  from  mustard 
to  matches,  is  looked  upon  with  a  certain  amount  of  suspicion, 
while  goods  coming  from  America  are  hailed  with  an  enthusiasm 
often  quite  inconsistent  with  their  quaUty.  The  other  day  we  put 
a  case  of  "Fig  Newtons"  on  sale.  The  news  flashed  all  over  town. 
As  one  of  the  boys  said;  "Why  it  was  just  as  if  General  Pershing 
or  somebody's  mother  had  come  to  camp." 

Lately  we  have  had  for  sale  quantities  of  fat  French  cookies. 
Some  of  the  boys  are  mean  enough  to  suggest  that  these  were  baked 
before  the  war. 

"Those  cookies  ought  to  wear  service  stripes,"  one  boy  declared. 

So  "Service  Stripe  Cookies"  they  have  been  ever  since. 

"They're  all  right  for  eating,"  observed  another  customer 
solemnly,  "but  the  Lord  help  you  if  you  drop  one  on  your  toe!" 

This  morning  when  I  reached  the  hut  I  found  Jones  languidly 
washing  dishes. 

"Where's  Neddy?" 

"Neddy?    Why  he's  in  the  guard-house." 

For  a  moment  I  was  goose  enough  to  believe  it,  then  I  learned 
that  Neddy,  with  a  lieutenant  and  some  twenty  other  boys,  had 
all  gone  off,  the  day  being  Sunday,  on  single  mounts  to  Domremy 
to  visit  the  birthplace  of  Jeanne  D'Arc.  Late  in  the  afternoon  the 
little  cavalcade  returned. 

"Neddy,"  I  teased,  "I  hear  you've  been  in  the  guard-house." 

To  my  astonishment  Neddy's  mouth  twitched,  his^eyes  filled. 
"I  wish  I'd  never  gone!"  he  blurted  out. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 


124  GONDRECOURT 

Then  the  whole  pitiful  tale  was  unfolded.  Neddy  hadn't  any 
money,  not  a  clacker,  and  being  too  shy  to  ask  for  a  loan,  he  had 
gone  on  the  trip  with  empty  pockets.  'He  hadn't  been  able  to  buy 
himself  a  bite  of  dinner.  But  that  wasn't  what  hurt.  What  hurt 
was  that  he  couldn't  purchase  any  souvenirs  for  his  girl,  and  there 
had  been  so  many  enticing  ones! 

"Gee,"  he  moaned,  "but  that's  an  awful  place  for  a  feller  to  go 
who  hasn't  any  money." 

Then,  just  as  the  last  straw  of  misery,  his  horse  had  been  taken 
sick  on  the  way  home! 

We  are  going  through  one  of  those  painful  periods  of  pecuniary 
depletion  which  are  periodic  in  the  army,  the  inevitable  prelude 
to  pay-day.  In  Battery  A  there  are  two  lads  whom  I  have  privately 
dubbed  Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee.  They  are  both  short,  roly- 
poly  and  always  smiling  and  they  are  absolutely  inseparable.  When 
either  of  them  buys  anything  at  the  canteen  he  always  buys  double; 
two  packets  of  cigarettes,  two  "bunches"  of  gum,  two  cups  of  hot 
chocolate  "one  for  me  and  one  for  my  friend"  as  the  stock  phrase 
goes.  This  morning  I  received  a  shock.  Tweedledum  asked  for 
one  bar  of  chocolate  and  one  package  of  cigarettes. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked,  thinking  alarmedly  of  how  in 
the  immortal  poem  "Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee  agreed  to  have 
a  battle," — "You  and  your  buddy  haven't  quarrelled,  have  you?" 

"No  ma'am,  oh  no  indeed  ma'am!  It's  just  that  it's  an  awful 
long  ways  from  pay-day!" 

Later  I  saw  them  carefully  dividing  the  purchases  between  them. 
I  leaned  over  the  counter,  beckoned  to  Tweedledee. 

"You  boys  go  around  to  the  back  door,  but  don't  let  anybody 
see  you!" 

At  the  back  door  I  gave  them  each  a  slice  of  Snow's  latest  lemon 
pie. 

Tonight  the  Major  suddenly  made  his  appearance  in  the  kitchen 
to  find  Snow,  Neddy  and  myself  all  sitting  on  the  floor  sorting  out 
rotten  oranges.  Snow  and  Neddy  faded  away  out  the  back  door, 
but  I  stood  my  ground.    For  once  his  Majorship  was  pleased  to  be 


THE  ARTILLERY  125 

gracious.  He  compKmented  me  on  the  improvement  in  the  appear- 
ance of  my  kitchen.  Indeed  we  did  look  pretty  fine,  Neddy 
having  just  covered  the  shelves  with  newspapers  whose  edges 
he  had  cut  into  beautiful  fancy  scalloping. 

"  What  do  you  do  with  those  over-ripe  oranges?" 

"Put  them  in  a  box  outside  the  back  door." 

"WeU?   What  then?" 

"The  French  children  do  the  rest,  sir." 

But  the  boys  are  more  incensed  than  ever  against  the  Powers 
That  Be.  They  have  been  writing  too  many  letters  of  late  for  the 
censor's  comfort.  So  yesterday  at  Retreat  the  order  was  read  out 
that  no  boy  might  write  more  than  two  letters  and  one  postal  card 
per  week! 

GONDRECOURT,  JUNE  13. 

The  School  has  closed.  It  is  common  knowledge  that  the  two 
batteries  will  soon  join  their  respective  regiments  at  the  front. 
Curiously  enough,  here  with  the  artillery  I  have  never  had  that 
same  feeling  of  closeness  to  the  war  which  I  had  when  I  was  with 
the  doughboys.  The  attitude  of  the  men  here  is  so  much  more 
detached,  impersonal.  I  fancy  this  is  because,  however  dangerous 
their  work  may  be,  they  do  not  look  forward  to  any  actual  physical 
conflict.  It  is  the  imaginative  image  of  "Heinie"  with  a  bayonet 
thrusting  at  his  breast  which  makes  the  front  so  vivid  in  antici- 
pation to  the  doughboy. 

But  now  with  the  news  from  Chateau  Thierry  there  is  a  certain 
tenseness  everywhere.  One  feels  that  the  hour  is  close  at  hand 
when  every  man  that  Uncle  Sam  has  in  France  may  be  needed. 
The  barking  of  the  guns  at  practice  has  taken  on  a  new  significance. 
Yesterday  indeed  it  just  missed  implying  tragedy.  Shortly  after 
the  jarring  thunder  of  the  ''7Ss"  had  started  our  dishes  in  the 
kitchen  to  rattling,  came  a  frantic  message  by  telephone.  A  party 
of  engineers  were  surve5dng  for  the  narrow-gauge  railway  just 
beyond  the  hill  over  which  the  battery  was  shooting.  One  shell 
had  narrowly  missed  them. 


126  GONDRECOURT 

Today  an  aviator  in  a  little  Spad  machine  came  down  at  our 
back  door.  He  had  lost  his  way,  exausted  his  gas,  and  was  forced 
to  descend.  He  had  thought  he  was  over  Germany  so  his  relief 
on  finding  himself  among  friendly  faces  may  be  imagined.  But 
aviation  doesn't  mean  what  it  used  to  any  more  to  us.  We  have 
lost  our  aviator.  Shortly  after  I  came  to  Gondrecourt  we  began 
to  have  an  aerial  visitor.  Every  few  days  about  sundown  he  would 
appear;  flashing  up  over  the  eastern  hill  horizon,  to  circle  the  big 
open  drill  ground,  dipping,  soaring,  playing  all  manner  of  madcap 
tricks  just  for  the  sheer  joy  of  it,  now  he  would  sweep  so  low  as 
almost  to  touch  the  ridgepole  of  the  hut,  then  up,  up  again  with  a 
rush,  waving  his  hand  to  us  below  as  we  waved  and  shouted  with 
all  our  might  up  at  him.  The  whole  camp  would  turn  out  to  see; 
it  was  one  of  the  events  of  the  day.  "It's  Lufberry,"  some  one  told 
me.  Not  long  ago  we  read  in  the  paper  that  Major  Lufberry  had 
been  killed.  We  waited  in  suspense.  Had  it  really  been  he?  Would 
our  aviator  never  come  again?  Night  after  night  we  watched  for 
him;  he  never  came. 

The  fields  about,  which  have  been  golden  with  buttercups  and 
primroses,  white  with  daisies,  and  purple  with  flowers  whose  names 
I  do  not  know,  are  now  crimsoning  with  poppies.  "Artillery 
flowers,"  the  boys  call  them.  They  pick  them  and  stick  them 
jauntily  in  their  overseas  caps,  or  in  great  bunches,  bring  them 
to  me  to  brighten  the  canteen. 

Since  the  boys  are  going  soon  I  have  been  trying  desperately 
to  make  them  extra  special  goodies;  candy,  stuffed  dates,  frosted 
cookies,  and — ^what  pleases  them  as  much  as  anything — ^hard- 
boiled  eggs.  It  has  been  a  revelation  to  me  here  in  France,  the 
American  appetite  for  eggs.  The  boys  will  walk  miles  to  get  them; 
they  will  cheerfully  pay  as  high  as  two  dollars  a  dozen  for  them.  I 
buy  twelve  dozen  at  a  time,  carry  them  out  to  the  canteen  and  boil 
them  in  the  dish-pan.  Placed  on  sale  they  disappear  in  the  wink- 
ing of  an  eye,  and  then  the  cry  is  always,  "Ain't  you  got  no  more?  " 
Sometimes  I  take  Neddy  with  me  on  my  shopping  expeditions; 
Neddy  carries  my  market  basket,  smokes  his  pipe  and  looks  as 


THE  ARTILLERY  127 

pleased  as  Punch.  Today  in  our  fc[uest  we  stopped  in  at  a  store 
kept  by  two  extremely  pretty  Mademoiselles.  As  we  entered  we 
were  greeted  by  peals  of  girlish  laughter.  In  a  chair  in  the  corner 
sat  a  tired  M.  P.  fast  asleep,  his  mouth  wide-open;  between  his 
lips  one  of  the  pretty  girls  had  just  at  that  moment  popped  a 
round  ripe  strawberry. 

GONDRECOURT,  JUNE  l8. 

Besides  the  American  Camp  Hospital  there  is  a  French  Hospital 
at  Gondrecourt,  a  place  with  a  hint  of  old-world  flavour  to  it,  the 
nursing  being  done  by  Sisters  of  Charity.  Here  through  some 
freak  of  chance  a  week  ago  arrived  sixteen  Tommies  from  the  Eng- 
lish front,  after  having  travelled  half  over  the  map  of  France. 
They  were  none  too  pleased  to  find  themselves  in  a  French  Hospi- 
tal and  several,  being  walking  cases,  straightway  deserted  and 
sneaked  over  to  the  American  Hospital  only  to  be  regretfully  re- 
turned again.  They  have  a  little  Algerian  in  a  red  fez  with  them 
whom  they  have  nicknamed  "  Charlie  ChapHn."  Although  inter- 
course between  them  is  restricted  entirely  to  sign  language,  the 
Tommies  have  adopted  Charlie  as  their  mascot  and  Charlie  follows 
them  about  just  like  a  dog. 

My  friend  the  English  Lady,  having  little  to  do  in  her  canteen 
since  the  School  closed,  has  appointed  herself  as  a  sort  of  foster- 
mother  to  the  whole  cockney  brood.  She  acts  as  interpreter  and 
sometimes  as  intercessor,  for  the  Tommies  are  impatient  of  the 
hospital  discipline  and  cause  the  authorities  frequent  anxiety, 
helps  the  Sisters  out  in  nursing  them  and,  best  of  all,  makes  them 
tea  at  four  o'clock  or  thereabouts,  accompan)dng  it  with  bread 
and  butter  sandwiches.  Frankly,  the  Tommies  think  that  they 
are  little  short  of  starved  on  the  French  Hospital  rations,  and  the 
tea  helps.  When  they  can  they  sneak  over  to  the  American  Hos- 
pital and  beg  a  meal  there,  but  such  excursions  are  frowned  upon 
by  those  in  authority. 

Yesterday  the  English  Lady  gave  a  tea  party  for  the  Tommies 
in  her  canteen.  She  arranged  to  have  a  truck  go  fetch  them.  To 
her  astonishment,  instead  of  one,  two  trucks  appeared  and  instead 


128  GONDRECOURT 

of  just  the  Englishmen,  the  whole  hospital  that  was  able  to  stand 
on  two  legs  or  one  arrived  with  them;  big  black  Algerians  and  Mo- 
roccans in  every  shade  of  duskiness  and  poilus  by  the  half  score. 
The  hut  was  crowded,  there  weren't  enough  chairs  to  go  around. 
The  English  Lady  sent  out  a  hurry  call  to  bring  up  the  reserves 
in  refreshments.  Neddy  and  I  came  over  from  our  hut  with  our 
arms  full  of  cups;  more  water  was  put  on  to  boil  for  the  tea,  new 
packages  of  biscuits  opened.  Then  while  the  water  heated  the 
English  Lady  took  all  the  liveliest  ones  out  for  a  walk  through  the 
Chateau  grounds,  while  "  Skipper",  her  detail,  who  is  a  clever 
pianist,  entertained  the  rest  with  music.  During  the  playing  one 
enormous  Algerian,  as  black  as  night,  stared  fascinated  at  the  piano, 
then  edged  slowly  nearer  and  nearer  to  finally  lay  one  incredulous 
finger,  with  infinite  caution  on  one  of  the  end  keys.  He  had  evi- 
dently never  seen  such  a  thing  before,  and  more  than  half  suspected 
it  was  all  magic. 

Then  the  water  boiled  and  we  made  the  tea  and  carried  cups 
and  bowls  of  it  around  with  canned  milk  and  commissary  sugar. 
The  Frenchmen,  true  to  t3^e,  with  the  scarcity  of  sugar  in  mind 
would  only  take  one  lump,  until  you  invited  them  to  have  another, 
when  each,  with  evident  pleasure,  took  a  second.  As  we  could 
only  muster  six  teaspoons  between  our  two  canteens  to  supply  the 
whole  company,  we  had  to  pass  the  spoons  from  guest  to  guest 
allowing  each  man  just  long  enough  for  a  good  stir  and  then  on  to 
the  next.  The  men  with  wounded  arms  got  their  neighbors  to 
stir  for  them.  With  the  tea  we  served  sandwiches;  these  were  a 
special  treat  to  the  poilus  because  they  were  made  with  American 
army  bread.  Now  to  my  mind  our  white  army  bread  is  very  poor 
and  tasteless  stuff  in  comparison  with  the  grey  well-flavored  French 
war-bread,  but  the  French,  probably  on  account  of  the  novelty, 
prize  highly  any  scraps  of  the  pain  Americain  that  they  can  obtain. 
"Why,  they  eat  it  just  like  cake!"  one  boy  said  to  me.  Besides 
the  sandwiches,  there  were  little  cookies  and  candies  and  cigarettes 
and  finally,  the  gift  of  an  American  officer  who  happened  in,  an 
orange  for  each  man  to  take  home  with  him. 


THE  ARTILLERY  129 

When  the  tea  was  finished  it  was  time  for  the  guests  to  go. 
Crowded  into  the  trucks  they  rolled  out  through  the  Chateau 
gates,  the  poilus  smiling  and  waving  their  good  hands,  while  the 
Tommies  raised  a  ragged  cheer. 

As  Neddy  and  I  returned  .to  our  canteen  we  paused  at  the 
door  of  one  of  the  barracks  to  listen  to  the  band  producing  pan- 
demonium within.  This  band  is  the  pet  project  of  Battery  D, 
the  dearest  hope  of  Corporal  R.  who  is  theatrical  producer, 
impresario,  librettist,  base  soloist,  and  band  leader  for  the  bat- 
tery. The  instruments  were  finally  assembled  some  ten  days  ago. 
The  one  thing  required  of  a  member  seemed  to  be  that  he  had 
never  played  that  particular  sort  of  an  instrument  before.  For 
the  last  ten  days  the  band  has  been  practicing,  mostly  in  the  Y. 
They  have  always  played  the  same  tune,  yet  I  have  never  been 
able  to  decide  what  that  tune  was.  Now  that  the  battery  is  going 
to  the  front,  the  instruments  must  be  put  in  store  and  our  bud- 
ding band  disbanded  almost  before  it  had  begun.  The  instruments 
are  to  be  interned  at  Abainville,  the  town  next  door.  When  the 
day  comes  to  relinquish  them  the  band  is  going  to  march  all  the 
way  from  Gondrecourt  to  Abainville  in  state,  playing  their  one 
tune  over  and  over. 

Tonight  Corporal  R.  sat  on  a  barrel  in  the  kitchen  pohshing 
his  French  horn  with  the  Secretary's  pink  tooth-paste.  It  made 
excellent  brass-polish  he  had  discovered.^  _ 

"It's  too  bad  you  can't  take  that  band  of  yours  up  front," 
remarked  Snow. 

"What  for?" 

"  'Cause  it  sure  would  make  the  boys  feel  like  fighting." 

Gondrecourt  June  22. 
The  boys  have  gone!  We  saw  the  last  battery  off  on  the  train 
tonight.  The  guns  were  loaded  on  flat  cars,  horses  and  men 
lodged  together  in  the  box  cars,  the  boys  sleeping  under  the 
horses'  very  noses  and  in  danger  of  being  nipped,  it  seemed  to  me, 
by  an  ill-tempered  beast.    The  boys  who  were  to  sleep  with  the 


I30  GONDRECOURT 

guns  on  the  flat  cars  would  be  much  better  off  I  thought;  they  had 
made  tliemselves  cozy  Httle  nests  of  straw  underneath  the  gun- 
carriages.  Some  of  the  boys  in  the  box  cars,  I  was  pained  to  ob- 
serve, had  smuggled  in  bottles  with  them. 

The  English  Lady  and  I  had  arrived  at  the  station  none  too 
soon.  We  had  no  more  than  walked  the  length  of  the  train,  in- 
specting each  car  and  wishing  every  boy  Good-bye  and  Good- 
luck  when  the  engine  whistled  and  was  off.  We  stood  on  the 
platform  and  waved  to  the  boys  who  leaned  from  their  cars  and 
waved  back  until  a  curve  in  the  track  cut  off  our  sight. 

These  last  few  days  have  been  hectic.  Wednesday  was  my 
birthday.  Neddy  found  it  out  and  told  the  boys.  They  had 
observed  that  I  didn't  have  any  raincoat;  indeed  rainy  nights 
I  was  always  embarrassed  by  the  offer  of  half  a  dozen  different 
rubber  coats  and  ponchos  to  go  home  in;  so  they  decided, — bless 
them! — to  supply  this  lack.  A  crowd  of  noncoms  went  downtown; 
they  took  along  one  boy  with  them  as  a  cloak  model  because  he 
was  about  my  height  and  "looked  Uke  a  girl";  and  they  made  him 
try  on  every  raincoat  in  Gondrecourt.  Finally  they  selected  one, 
brought  it  back  and  made  a  ceremonious  presentation.  The 
raincoat  is  a  beauty,  and  ever  since  I  have  worn  it  every  day, 
rain  or  shine,  just  to  show  them  how  much  I  thought  of  it. 

It  was  hard  to  part  with  little  Neddy.  The  Secretary  presented 
him  with  a  farewell  pipe.  I  clasped  around  his  neck  a  chain 
bearing  a  little  silver  cross;  it  was  to  keep  him  safe,  body  and  soul 
from  harm.  He  was  almost  moved  to  tears.  The  Secretary  and 
I,  he  told  me,  had  been  "like  a  Httle  papa  and  a  daddy  to  him," 
and  then,  flushing,  joined  in  my  laughter. 

At  the  last  moment  one  of  the  D  Battery  cooks  came  stealthily 
to  the  back  door. 

"Me  an  the  other  fellers  in  the  kitchen,"  he  confided  soUo 
voce,  "  we  wanted  to  do  something  to  show  you  folks  how  much 
we  thought  of  you.  So  we  just  made  up  our  minds  to  send  yer 
this." 

This  was  a  ten  pound  can  of  issue  bacon. 


THE  ARTILLERY  131 

The  Secretary  leaves  tomorrow  for  Paris.  He  is  going  in  order 
to  buy  himself  some  new  clothes.  It  seems  that  all  his  belongings 
entrusted  to  the  local  laundresses  disappeared  one  by  one  until 
he  found  himself  reduced  to  a  single  set.  Last  night  he  washed 
these  out  himself  and  put  them  in  the  oven  to  dry.  When  he 
remembered  them  this  morning  it  was  to  find  nothing  left  but  a 
little  cinder  heap. 

The  camp,  for  the  present  at  least,  is  to  be  abandoned;  the  hut, 
for  the  army  wishes  to  use  the  barracks  elsewhere,  torn  down. 
In  a  few  days  the  little  Artillery  School  Canteen  will  be  nothing 
but  a  memory. 


CHAPTER  V 
ABAINVILLE 

THE  ENGINEERS 

Abainville  July  i. 

"Abainville  is  going  to  be  bombed  off  the  face  of  the  map." 
Every  time  anyone  has  mentioned  Abainville  in  my  hearing  during 
the  last  six  weeks  they  have  wound  tip  with  some  such  prophecy 
as  this.  Abainville  is  an  engineering  camp,  Abainville  is  the  start- 
ing-point for  the  narrow-gauge  system  that  is  to  supply  a  certain 
sector  of  the  American  front.  Already  the  great  car  shops  have 
been  built  and  stand  gaunt  and  staring  with  more  glass  in  their 
gUttering  ^ides  than  I  have  seen  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  It 
is  these  shops  in  particular  that  are  held  to  be  such  shining  marks 
for  enemy  aircraft.  Anyway  we  have  this  comfort  that  if  the  Boche 
gets  us  we  will  all  go  together,  for  the  town  is  so  tiny  that  if  a  bomb 
hit  it  anywhere,  it  would  wreck  the  major  part  of  the  village  and 
there  isn't  a  single  cellar  in  the  whole  vicinity! 

Just  at  present  Abainville  is  in  a  state  of  suspense.  There  is 
some  question  among  those  in  high  places  as  to  whether  after  all 
the  site,  for  such  extensive  operations  as  have  been  planned,  is 
well  selected.  Work  on  the  narrow-gauge  goes  on,  but  the  work 
on  the  shops  has  been  suspended.  Everyone  is  anxiously  awaitmg 
the  decision. 

The  hut,  which  is  on  the  far  edge  of  the  camp,  is  a  huge  empty 
shell,  for  work  on  this  too  has  been  stopped  pending  developments. 
Up  till  the  day  I  arrived  the  Y.  was  doing  business  in  a  tent  near 
the  highway,  but  being  notified  that  the  engineers  were  going  to 
run  a  railway  through  that  spot  the  next  day,  they  had  moved 
out  and  over  to  the  unfinished  hut  in  a  hurry. 

My  billet  has  a  fine  central  location, — at  the  corner  of  La  Grande 


THE  ENGINEERS  133 

Rue  and  the  national  highway  that  runs  through  the  town.  My 
window  overlooks  what  approximates  the  town  square,  an  open 
dusty  space,  bounded  on  the  south  by  the  principal  cafe,  on  the 
east  by  the  butcher's  shop,  on  the  west  by  manure-heaps  and  on 
the  north  by  my  billet.  In  this  square,  it  appears,  all  the  village 
pig-killings  take  place.  It  is  incredible  and  painful  how  many  pigs 
of  a  marketable  maturity  a  town  no  larger  than  Abainville  can 
produce.  Arguing  from  the  frequency  of  the  pig-killings  I  am  con- 
vinced that  if  a  census  were  taken  Abainville  would  be  found  to 
contain  more  pigs  than  people. 

Further  down  la  Grande  Rue  one  comes  to  the  church  and  the 
town-hall.  Upstairs  in  the  Mairie  my  co-worker.  Miss  S.,  has  her 
billet.  Downstairs  is  the  village  school  and  the  living  apartments 
of  the  schoolmaster's  family,  refugees  from  the  invaded  territory. 
I  peeped  in  at  the  empty  schoolroom  yesterday:  on  the  wall  was 
a  large  pictorial  chart  designed  to  impress  upon  the  infant  mind 
the  advantages  of  drinking  beer,  cider  and  wine,  rather  than  the 
more  potent  alcohols;  a  lesson  vividly  demonstrated  by  a  series 
of  cuts  portraying  a  pair  of  guinea  pigs.  The  guinea  pig  who  in- 
dulged in  cognac  and  kindred  beverages  was  depicted  in  successive 
stages  of  inebriation  until  at  the  end  he  is  shown  expiring  in  all 
the  horrors  of  deUrium,  while  the  prudent  guinea  pig  who  took 
nothing  stronger  than  viuj  Mere  et  cidre  is  pictured  first  in  a  state 
of  mild  and  genial  intoxication,  and  then  the  "morning  after" 
with  all  the  zest  of  a  good  digestion  and  a  clear  conscience,  break- 
fasting on  a  sober  cabbage  leaf. 

The  church  next  door  to  the  'Mairie  is  remarkable  for  nothing 
except  the  peculiar  sound  like  a  wheezing  snore  which  may  be 
heard  every  evening  issuing  from  the  beKry.  At  first  this  sound 
was  a  mystery  to  us.    I  inquired  of  Madame;  she  was  blank. 

"Perhaps,"  I  suggested  remembering  how  in  medieval  lore  evil 
spirits  were  reputed  to  haunt  church  towers,  "perhaps  it  is  the 
devil  in  the  beKry." 

"But  no!"  cried  Madame  scandalized.  "The  devil  doesn't  live 
in  Abainville!" 


134  ABAINVILLE 

"To  be  sure,"  I  amended  hastily,  "the  devil  is  a  Bochel  He 
lives  at  Berlin." 

"MaiSy  ouif  oui,  out!  " 

But  now  the  riddle  has  been  read.  The  devil  in  the  belfry  is 
in  reality  an  ancient  owl,  une  chouette,  who  has  inhabited  the  church 
tower  time  out  of  mind. 

There  is  a  Salvation  Army  hut  here,  the  first  one  I  have  seen. 
It  is  down  by  the  main  road;  the  canteen  occupies  one  end  of  a 
barracks,  which  is  used  as  a  store-house,  then  there  is  an  ell  con- 
taining the  kitchen.  The  staff  comprises  one  man  and  two  women; 
they  are  pleasant  people,  "real  home  folks."  Two  or  three  times 
a  week,  for  supplies  are  hard  to  obtain,  they  make  pie  or  cake  or 
doughnuts.  On  these  nights,  passing  the  hut  on  our  way  back  from 
mess,  one  sees  a  long  line  stretching  down  the  road,  waiting  pa- 
tiently for  the  chance  to  get  a  piece  of  pie  "like  Mother  used  to 
make."  Our  relationships  are  cordial.  We  help  each  other  out 
in  the  matter  of  change.  They  come  to  our  hut  for  sweet  chocolate 
and  movies;  we  go  to  them,  when  our  consciences  will  permit,  for 
doughnuts.  I  only  wish  that  one  of  their  huts  could  be  in  every 
camp  in  France. 

Abainville,  July  8. 
By  courtesy  of  a  group  of  officers  we  are  messing  at  a  house 
with  a  particularly  noisome  front-door  gutter  and  the  Most  Beauti- 
ful Girl  in  France  to  wait  on  us.  La  Belle  Marguerite,  as  I  always 
think  of  her,  is  tall  and  stately  with  a  lovely  gracious  bearing  and 
a  sensitive,  responsive  face;  what's  more,  she  only  paints  a  Uttle. 
She  affects  to  speak  no  English  but  I  suspect  she  understands  a 
good  deal.  At  meal  times  when  we  are  present  the  officers  never 
look  twice  at  her,  but  any  evening  that  one  happens  past  the  house 
one  can  see  two  cigarette  ends  gleaming  from  the  darkness  just 
inside  the  mess-room  window:  the  officers  are  making  up  for  lost 
time.  Yesterday  La  Belle  looked  so  pale  and  distraite  at  dinner- 
time that  I  was  quite  distressed,  fancying  heart-break.  "  Mademoi- 
selle Marguerite  is  sad,"  I  told  Madame  my  hostess.    Madame 


THE  ENGINEERS  135 

immediately  went  forth  on  a  visit  of  investigation.  "Mademoi- 
selle has  the  tooth-ache!"  she  announced  on  her  return.  Today 
at  dinner,  having  finished  our  salade,  we  waited  in  vain  for  dessert. 
La  Belle  Marguerite,  usually  so  prompt  and  so  eflScient,  simply 
did  not  appear.  After  waiting  until  I  grew  tired  I  gave  it  up  and 
left.  Passing  by  the  kitchen  door  I  glanced  inside.  In  front  of 
the  hearth  stood  Marguerite  and  a  handsome  Russian  officer,  and 
oh!  the  coquetry  of  her  eyes,  the  seduction  of  her  smiKng,  scarlet 
lips!  It  was  evident  that  the  mess  in  the  next  room  was  wiped  as 
clean  from  her  mind  as  if  it  never  had  been!  Whether  my  mess- 
mates ever  got  their  dessert  or  not  I  haven't  heard. 

Besides  La  Belle  Marguerite,  the  one  unique  feature  of  our  mess 
is  a  certain  set  of  plates.  These  are  French  picture  plates  with 
jokes  on  them.  The  jokes  are  all  of  a  gustatory  nature  and  pertain 
to  things  which  most  people  would  prefer  not  to  think  about  while 
they  are  eating.  One  rather  striking  'design  represents  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  Swiss  resort  hotel  delicately  sniffing  k  platter  of  fish 
as  he  says  to  the  waitress: 

"These  trout  are  passi.  Keep  them  for  the  customers  who 
have  colds  in  their  heads." 

On  another  an  irate  diner  is  exclaiming  over  an  item  on  his 
bill: 

"Three  francs  for  a  chicken!    What's  that?" 

"Why  that  was  the  little  chicken  that  Monsieur  found  in  his 
egg!" 

There  is  always  an  anxious  moment  of  suspense  whenever  a 
guest  comes  to  dinner,  a  moment  in  which  one  peeps  furtively  out 
of  the  corners  of  one's  eyes  to  see  whether  the  newcomer  has 
noticed  the  picture  on  his  plate,  and  if  so,  whether  he  has  got  the 
point.  Sometimes  the  guest  Will  ask  to  have  the  text  translated 
for  him  and  then  there  is  an  awkward  pause. 

The  question  of  what  to  serve  at  the  canteen  is  a  vexed  one 
these  days  as  it  is  quite  too  hot  for  chocolate.  By  scouring  the 
country  we  managed  to  procure  several  cases  of  lemons,  and  then 
found  our  work  for  the  day  laid  out, — ^just  squeezing  them.    A  few 


136  ABAINVILLE 

days  ago,  however,  a  shipment  of  bottled  fruit  juices  arrived  at 
the  warehouse;  by  mixing  this  syrup  with  water  and  a  small 
amount  of  lemon  a  delicious  drink  can  be  obtained.  The  boys 
have  dubbed  it  a  dozen  different  names,  *^ Camouflage  vin  rouge^* 
bemg  one  of  them,  but  '^pink  lemonade^'  is  the  title  it  commonly 
passes  under.  Already  it  has  become  famous  and  every  drunk  in 
camp  if  questioned  as  to  how  he  came  to  be  in  that  condition  will 
unblushingly  assert  that  it  was  through  drinking  "  that  Y.  M.  C.  A,  i 
pink  lemonade." 

If  we  could  only  get  ice!  Yesterday  I  investigated  the  pos- 
sibilities, to  find  that  if  one  were  very  ill  and  in  desperate  need  of 
it,  could  produce  a  certificate  to  that  effect  signed  by  half  a  dozen 
doctors,  approved  by  the  Sanitary  Inspector,  passed  upon  by  the 
local  Board  of  Health  and  sealed  by  the  Mayor  with  the  sanction 
of  the  Town  Council,  one  could,  by  means  of  this  document, 
procure  at  the  brewery  at  Gondrecourt  a  piece  of  ice  about  as 
large  as  a  small-sized  egg.  Somehow  it  doesn't  seem  quite  worth 
the  trouble. 

Lacking  ice,  we  do  our  best  with  freshly'drawn  water  which 
comes  pleasantly  cool  from  the  deep  wells  drilled  by  American 
engineers  to  supply  the  camp, — ^when  it  does  home.  But  often 
just  when  the  thirsty  ones  are  crowding  thickest  you  make  a 
frantic  dash  to  the  faucet  only  to  find  that  the  supply  has  been  cut 
off:  there  is  not  enough  water  in  the  wells,  it  seems,  to  supply  all 
the  engines  and  pink  lemonade  besides  for  the  whole  camp.  Then 
there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  take  a  pail  and  set  out.  After  climb- 
ing over  a  couple  of  freight  trains  and  ploughing  through  a  dozen 
cinder  heaps  one  comes  at  last  to  the  pump-house,  where  one  may, 
by  assuming  an  ingratiating  manner,  beg  a  pailful, — strictly 
against  the  regulations, — ^from  the  man  at  the  pump.  And  then, 
after  all,  what  use  is  a  mere  pailful  of  lemonade  in  a  thirsty  camp? 

Abainville,  July  io. 
We  have  stopped  fighting  the  war  and  have  gone  into  the  movie 
business.    For  two  days  all  work  has  been  suspended  while  the 


THE  ENGINEERS  137 

camp  has  posed  before  the  camera.  They  are  making  a  big  prop- 
aganda film  for  use  in  the  States,  entitled  "America's  Answer  to 
the  Hun"  and  Abainville  and  the  Abainville-Sorcy  narrow-gauge 
is  to  be  part  of  that  answer.  "Camouflage  pictures"  sneer  the 
boys,  and  camouflage  pictures  I  blush  to  say  they  frankly  are. 
For  on  the  screen  the  peaceful  valley  through  which  the  narrow- 
gauge  is  being  built  is  to  masquerade  as  a  field  of  battle.  Cam- 
ouflaged engineers,  armed  and  equipped  as  infantry  will  march 
valiantly  across  the  landscape,  while  other  engineers  in  helmets, 
with  their  gas-masks  at  the  alert,  are  plying  their  picks  and  shovels 
amid  the  smoke  of  camouflage  shrapnel;  the  climax  being  attained 
when  the  helmeted  engineers  effect  a  lightning  repair  feat  by 
bridging  over  a  carefully  dug  camouflage  shell-hole. 

Yesterday  I  saw  a  photograph  cut  from  the  Sunday  Supplement 
of  one  of  America's  best  known  and  most  respected  newspapers. 
Underneath  the  picture  ran  the  text,  "American  boys  playing 
base-ball  on  a  field  in  France  where  shells  fall  daily."  To  my 
certain  knowledge  the  only  shells  that  have  ever  fallen  on  that 
field  or  within  many  miles  of  it  are  peanut  shells.  For  the  field  in 
the  picture  is  most  plainly  and  indisputably  the  Y.  athletic  field 
at  Gondrecourt.  Will  I  ever,  I  wonder,  recover  my  pre-war  faith 
in  newspapers  and  photographs  and  movies  and  such  things? 

But  now  we  have  done  our  turn  before  the  camera,  it's  back  to 
work  again  and  very  hard  work  at  that,  for  the  officers  are  de- 
termined to  set  a  record  for  all  the  world  in  laying  track.  Already 
the  Httle  railway  has  shot  ahead  at  an  amazing  'rate;  though 
whether  track  laid  in  such  a  hurry  is  really  going  to  make  for  speed 
in  the  long  run  is  a  question  on  which  the  trainmen,  sipping  their 
pink  lemonade  at  the  canteen  counter^,  have  their  own  opinions. 
For  no  train,  it  seems,  can  make  the  run  at  present  without  leav- 
ing the  track  at  least  once  during  the  journey.  "Sun-trouble" 
say  'the  oflScers,  which  means,  being  interpreted,  that  the  heat  of 
the  sun's  rays  has  warped  the  rails.  "Sun  trouble  nothin,'" 
grunt  the  men.  "It's  just  not  takin'  the  time  to  do  the  job  decent." 
When  the  "  sun  trouble  "  doesn  't  serve  to  throw  a  train  off  the  track, 


138  ABAINVILLE 

the  French  children  see  to  it  that  the  same  effect  is  produced  by 
the  simple  expedient  of  dropping  spikes  in  between  the  ends  of 
adjoining  rails. 

Yesterday  I  was  talking  with  an  engineer  from  Tours.  He  and 
his  fireman  had  just  brought  a  Belgian  engine  up  from  that  city 
for  use  in  the  Abainville  yards.  The  attitude  of  the  train  crew 
who  received  it  W2LS  plainly  "thank-you-for-nothing-sirs!",  Bel- 
gian engines  being  none  too  popular  with  A.  E.  F.  railroad  men. 
The  two  crews  sat  in  the  hut  for  a  long  while  holding  a  S)anposium 
over  the  Belgian  engine's  oddities;  at  last  the  home  crew  departed, 
looking  very  glum.  In  the  course  of  my  subsequent  conversation 
with  the  visiting  engineer  I  happened  to  ask: 

"  Would  you  vote  for  Pershing  for  president?  " 

"No  sir!"  he  answered  emphatically.  "All  the  railroad  men 
over  here  have  got  it  in  for  him."   He  went  on  to  explain. 

French  railroad  engineers  are  allowed  a  certain  amount  of 
coal  and  oil  with  which  to  make  their  runs;  for  anything  that  they 
can  save  out  of  this,  they  are  reimbursed.  This  idea  appealed  to 
the  American  train  crews  who  were  attached  to  the  French.  They 
set  to  work  and  saved, — ^far  more  than  the  French  were  able  to! 
The  French  proceeded  to  depreciate  the  quality  of  coal  allowed 
them,  instead  of  giving  them  half  dust  and  half  briquets,  they 
gave  them  three-quarters  dust  and  finally  all  dust  yet  still  the 
Americans  were  able  to  beat  the  French  at  saving.  And  each  man 
in  fancy  was  rolling  up  a  tidy  Ht  tie  sum  for  himself. 

"And  then,"  continued  my  informant,  "Pershing  came  out  and 
said  that  we  weren't  here  to  make  money  off  the  French,  but  to 
help  them,  so  we  weren't  to  get  the  money  for  all  the  coal  and 
oil  we  had  saved  after  all.  And  that's  why  there  isn't  a  railroad 
man  in  France  who  has  any  use  for  him." 

How  much  of  politics  could  be  reduced,  I  v/onder,  to  a  mere 
question  of  pocket-book? 

He  went  on  to  tell  me  among  other  things  that  although  a 
French  conductor  would  be  furious  if  you  stopped  a  train  in  the 
middle  of  a  run  for  any  other  reason,  if  you  just  said;  "Come 


THE  ENGINEERS  139 

on,  ol'  top,  and  have  a  bottle  of  vin  rouge  on  me,"  he  was  all  beam- 
ing acquiescence.  "Just  imagine,"  he  concluded  disgustedly, 
"stopping  a  main-line  train  in  America  so  the  crew  could  go  into 
a  saloon  and  get  a  drink!" 

Abainville,  July  14. 

The  Bastille  has  fallen!  We  celebrated  its  fall  today  with  much 
enthusiasm.  Ostensibly  in  order  to  signalize  the  Franco- American 
Alliance,  the  festivities  in  reality  were  planned  as  propaganda  of 
a  different  sort.  Surreptitiously  but  quite  definitely  the  end  and 
aim  of  them  was  to  flatter  the  Major. 

Now  the  Major  in  command  of  the  camp  at  Abainville  is  what — 
if  he  weren't  a  major — one  would  be  tempted  to  term  a  "hard- 
boiled  guy."  Being  of  the  bid  school  he  looks  With  a  jaundiced 
eye  at  all  welfare  organizations,  particularly,  I  gather,  at  the  femi- 
nine element  in  them.  He  calls  the  college  men  in  the  regiment 
"sissy  boys"  and  believes  in  treating  them  to  an  extra  dose  of  pick 
and  shovel.  What's  more,  it  is  an  open  secret  'that  he  would  like 
to  swap  the  whole  outfit  of  them  for  a  regiment  of  Mexican  des- 
peradoes, with  whom  he  has  had  considerable  experience.  As  the 
boys  say,  he  speaks  three  languages,  EngHsh,  Mexican  and  Pro- 
fane, and  of  the  three  he  is  the  most  proficient  in  the  last. 

So  in  view  of  all  this,  the  Fourteenth  of  July  celebration  was 
gotten  up  chiefly  in  order  to  give  the  Major  a  chance  to  appear  in  all 
his  glory  and  make  a  speech,  this  being,  it  is  claimed,  one  of  the 
surest  ways  to  tickle  the  vanity  and  so  win  the  heart  of  a  man. 

We  decorated  the  half-finished  hut  with  flags  and  bunting, 
screening  the  yawning  cavern  back  of  the  stage  with  broad  strips 
of  red,  white  and  blue  cheesecloth.  Then  we  officially  invited  the 
whole  town  to  attend.  The  whole  town,  from  grandmother  to 
baby,  came  dressed  in  their  Sunday  best.  The  programme  started 
with  an  informal  concert  by  an  impromtu  jazz  orchestra  varied 
by  some  Harry  Lauder  impersonations  delivered  by  an  unexpected 
youth  who  somehow  strayed  on  to  the  stage.  For  a  few  moments 
we  were  painfully  uncertain  as  to  whether  the  effect  produced  was 
due  just  to  Harry  Lauder  or  to  vin  rouge,  finally  deciding  that  a 


I40  ABAINVILLE 

share  at  least  of  the  credit  should  be  allowed  the  latter.  Fortu- 
nately Harry's  appearance  on  the  stage  was  short;  he  left  us  fondly 
hoping  that  the  French  hadn't  realized  anything  was  amiss. 

The  Major  of  course  opened  the  formal  programme.  He  read 
his  speech.  It  wasn't  a  bad  speech,  representing,  as  it  did,  the 
combined  efforts  of  one  captain,  two  lieutenants  and  the  clerk  in 
the  Headquarters  office,  and  was  sufficiently  fiery  in  its  reference 
to  the  Germans  to  be  quite  in  keeping  with  the  Major's  character. 
The  Major  sat  down  amid  thunderous  applause.  The  Secretary 
had  vainly  tried  to  arrange  to  have  a  Httle  girl  present  him  with  a 
bouquet  at  the  end  of  his  speech:  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  the  way 
it  was, — a  bouquet  might  have  proved  embarrassing  to  the  Major. 
When  the  applause  had  died  down  the  Major's  interpreter  stepped 
out  and  gave  a  brief  summary  of  the  address  in  French  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  villagers.  Then  we  had  the  Mayor  of  Abainville  and  after 
him  the  Cure,  looking  very  handsome  in  his  beautiful  French 
officer's  uniform.  They  both  deUvered  flowery  speeches,  enlarging 
upon  the  mutual  affections  of  the  two  nations,  which  were  trans- 
lated briefly  into  English  by  the  interpreter  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Americans. 

After  the  speeches  the  school  children,  who  had  been  fidgeting 
about  like  so  many  Httle  crickets  in  their  front-row  seats,  swarmed 
up  on  the  stage  and,  standing  in  a  long  line  with  flag-bearers  at 
each  end,  sang  the  Marseillaise  in  their  funny  shrill  little  voices. 
Then  we  all  sang  the  Star  Spangled  Banner,  and  after  that  there 
was  a  movie.  As  luck  would  have  it,  instead  of  an  adventure  of 
the  western  plains,  fate  had  sent  us  a  romance  of  high  finance. 
We  had  asked  the  interpreter  to  announce  the  titles  of  the  pictures 
in  French  for  the  benefit  of  the  villagers  but  when  he  discovered 
that  this  meant  making  clear  the  intricacies  of  the  New  York  Stock 
Exchange  to  the  mind  of  the  French  peasant,  he  baullced  and  bolted. 
It  must  have  been  just  about  as  inteUigible  to  them  as  Coptic, 
yet  they  sat  tight  and  at  least  looked  interested. 

Everybody  considers  the  affair  a  success.  The  Secretary  was 
in  high  spirits  over  the  evening. 


THE  ENGINEERS  141 

"The  Major  was  pleased,  I'm  sure,"  he  declared.  "As  for  the 
French,  it  was  an  occasion  which  they  will  always  remember.  Why 
it  was  just  like  transplanting  the  whole  village  there.  The  grand- 
mother and  the  babies,  the  mayor,  the  priest,  the  school-teacher 
and  his  scholars;  every  village  institution  was  represented!" 

"Everything,"  I  said— I  was  tired,  "but  the  pig-kiUings." 

Abainville,  July  20. 

I  have  just  established  what  I  think  must  be  the  smallest  "hut** 
in  France,  and  such  fun  as  it  was  doing  it! 

There  is  a  detachment  of  about  a  hundred  engineers  stationed, 
while  they  build  the  narrow-gauge  railway,  at  a  little  village  about 
ten  miles  to  the  north,  called  Sauvoy.  The  other  day  I  went  with 
the  Athletic  Director  in  a  side-car  to  take  them  some  base-ball 
equipment.  The  boys  I  found  'were  billeted  in  dark  dingy  lofts 
and  had  to  eat  their  meals,  rain  or  shine,  sitting  just  anywhere  in 
the  streets  of  the  village.  The  thought  came  to  me;  why  shouldn't 
they  too  have  a  Y?  I  approached  the  French  Town  Major, 
taking  the  barber-interpreter  with  me  to  lend  me  both  moral  and 
lingual  support.  After  some  uncertainty  he  admitted  that  there 
was  a  room  which  might  be  made  to  serve,  a  room  over  a  stable  to 
be  sure,  but  a  good  room  for  all  that;  the  rent  would  be  thirteen 
sous  a  day, — ^I  snapped  it  up. 

Yesterday  with  all  my  materials  assembled  I  started  out  for 
Sauvoy  again.  We  began  work  a  Uttle  before  noon,  myself  and 
four  engineers.  Before  the  afternoon  was  over  we  had  changed  a 
filthy  loft,  its  grimy  walls  covered  with  obscene  scrawls,  into  as 
cunning  a  little  pocket-edition  Y.  as  one  could  find  I  think  in  France. 
Sweeping  the  dust  and  cobwebs  from  the  rafters,  we  calcimined 
the  ceiling  and  walls  a  pretty  creamy  yellow;  filled  in  the  missing 
panes  with  vitex;  'hung  curtains  of  beautiful  blue  and  green  chintz 
at  the  windows;  laid  runners  of  the  same  across  the  tables  lent  with 
the  benches  by  the  Major  du  Cantonment; ^ecoiSitQd  the  walls, 
half-dry  as  they  were,  with  stunning  French  posters;  built  shelves 
in  the  alcove  comer  where  the  built-in  bed  had  been,^  filled  them 


142  ABAINVILLE 

with  books,  games  and  writing  materials;  hung  two  big  green  Jap- 
anese lanterns  from  the  beam  in  the  center;  and  last  of  all  put  bowls 
of  the  loveliest  flowers,  larkspurs  and  snapdragons,  begged  by  the 
boys  from  the  village  gardens,  on  the  shelves  and  tables,  together 
with  heaps  of  fresh  magazines  and  the  company  victrola.  In  the 
midst  of  all  the  scurry  and  hurry  a  red-faced  frowsy  Frenchwoman 
marched  in  upon  us.  She  stalked  across  the  room  and  tried  the 
door  which  led  into  the  hay-loft:  we  had  nailed  it  fast.  We  must 
open  that  'door  immediately,  she  declared,  otherwise  she  could 
not  get  the  hay  to  feed  the  horse  downstairs.  I  saw  my  pretty 
room  used  as  a  passageway  by  a  beery  old  termagant  and  my 
heart  sank.  After  some  discussion,  however,  our  visitor  proposed 
an  alternative.  If  we  would  supply  her  with  a  ladder,  she  could 
climb  up  into  the  loft  from  below.  But  how,  I  asked  helplessly, 
was  I  to  get  a  ladder?  One  of  the  boys  winked  at  me  and  disap- 
peared; ten  minutes  later  he  was  back  dragging  a  ladder  after  him. 
Our  French  friend  was  satisfied. 

"But  how  did  you  get  it?"  I  asked  wonderingly. 

He  looked  at  me  reprovingly.  "In  this  Man's  Army,"  he  re- 
marked, "you  should  learn  not  to  ask  such  questions." 

When  the  last  touch  had  been  bestowed  there  was  still  an  hour 
before  the  truck  which  was  to  take  me  home  was  slated  for  depar- 
ture. Someone  suggested  a  visit  to  the  Chateau.  So  the  Top 
Sergeant,  the  barber-interpreter,  the  Town  Major  and  I  all  set 
out  together. 

The  Chateau  at  Sauvoy  is  k  fifteenth  century  Chateau,  cut 
out  of  an  old  picture-book,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall  'and  just 
about  big  enough  for  two.  One  enters,  oddly  enough,  through 
the  kitchen  which  is  enormous  and  like  a  Dutch  genre  painter's 
"Interior,"  with  a  cobble-stone  floor,  an  eight-foot  fireplace, 
dried  herbs  and  vegetables  hanging  from  the  rafters  and  every- 
where on  the  long  shelves^  the  soft  gleam  of  pewter  and  the  mellow 
tones  of  old  china-ware.  From  the  kitchen  one  steps  into  a  tiny 
dining-room  panelled  in  dark  carved  wood  with  a  bird-cage,  empty 
now,  built  into  the  wall.    Beyond  this  is  the  salon  with  a  wonder- 


THE  ENGINEERS  143 

ful  old  tapestry  stretched  across  one  of  its  walls  and  some  ex- 
quisite Louis  Quinze  chairs  in  which  kings  and  queens  might  have 
sat. 

But  the  best  thing  about  the  Chateau  is  the  Ch^telain,  an  old 
French  gentleman,  eighty-nine  years  of  age,  the  last  of  his  family, 
who  lives  all  alone,  except  for  one  antique  serving-woman,  in  this 
beautiful  dim  old  mansion,  wears  sabots^  keeps  bees  for  a  living, 
and  every  day  of  his  life  fcuts  from  the  journal  the  Httle  Idaily 
English  lesson,  pastes  it  in  a  tiny  note-book,  and  then  his  poor 
old  eyes  an  inch  from  the  paper,  cons  the  words  over  and  over, 
reading  them  aloud  with  such  a  pronunciation! 

*'In  three  months,"  he  told  us  proudly,  "I  am  going  to  be  an 
American." 

He  related  to  us  how  in  1870  the  town  was  invaded  by  the 
Germans  and  he  taken  prisoner.  But  the  Germans  were  gentlemen 
then  and  treated  him  humanely;  he  couldn't  understand  what  had 
changed  them  to  such  savage  beasts.  He  took  us  out  and  showed 
us  his  precious  bees.  We  went  through  the  garden,  a  charming 
place  with  little  box  hedges  and  rose  bushes  and  currant  bushes 
and  gooseberries  all  growing  together  in  the  true  French  style. 
Beyond  we  came  to  an  open  oblong  of  greensward  edged  by  trees 
with  fifty  hives  ranged  around  it,  the  hives, — of  all  quaint  con- 
ceits— ^being  made  like  Kttle  Chinese  houses,  each  one  different 
from  the  rest,  each  painted  red  and  'blue,  ai  bit  shabby  and  worn 
by  time,  butstill  gay  and  jaunty  nevertheless.  Monsieur  guar- 
anteed us  that  the  bees  wouldn't  sting,  they  weren't  bad  bees_he 
said,  so  we  bonsented  to  be  led  about  to  each  hive  in  turn  and 
peered  in  through  the  Httle  glass  windows  at  the  bees  inaking 
honey.  Sad  to  say,  this  is  a  bad  year  for  sweets  and  instead  of 
hundreds  of  pounds  of  honey,  there  will  be  scarcely  one  to  sell. 

We  went  back  through  the  garden  'and  here  'Monsieur  must 
gather  a  bouquet  for  'me.  Around  and  about  the  garden  he  hur- 
ried, going  to  every  bush  in  turn,  putting  his  poor  dim  eyes  down 
into  the  very  leaves  of  each,  searching  for  just  what  he  wanted; 
and  finally  it  was  done,  'pink  and  white  roses,  red  geraniums, 


144  ABAINVILLE 

camomile  and  white  pinks,  made  up  in  a  Kttle  stiff  bunch  and  tied 
with  a  bit  of  scarlet  string.  Then  he  must  present  it  with  a  deep 
bow  and  a  gallant  speech  "from  an  old  Frenchman  to  une  jolie 
Amiricaine'\  while  all  the  rest,  including  the  ancient  maid-servant 
who  had  just  returned  from  the  fields  with  an  apron  full  of  clover 
for  the  rabbits,  stood  about  and  applauded  and  cried  *'Vive  la 
France!  ^^  and  then  ^^Vive  V  Ameriqtier*  in  a  quite  truly  stage 
manner. 

We  left  the  little  Y.  in  charge  of  a  boy  from  the  Medical  Corps. 
He  has  Httle  to  do  except  dispense  pills  to  the  French  people,  so 
he  was  willing  to  look  after  it. 

This  morning  word  came  in  from  Sauvoy  that  the  Germans 
bombed  it  last  night.  Luckily  the  bombs,  evidently  aimed  at  the 
railroad,  fell  just  outside  the  village  and  did  no  harm;  but  poor  old 
Monsieur  must  have  gotten  a  bad  fright. 

Abainville,  August  i.    ^ 

Abainville's  future  is  at  last  assured.  Work  upon  the  hut 
has  been  resumed.  The  buzz  'of  barracks-building  fills  all  the. 
place,  the  'railroad  yards  gradually  but  relentlessly  'encroach; 
Httle  by  Httlp  they  are  ruining  the  most  beautiful  poppy  field  in  all 
the  world. 

Meanwhile  our  family  too  has  grown.  A  few  days  ago  three  new 
companies  of  engineers  arrived  in  town.  These  are  draft  troops 
from  Texas  and  Oklahoma,  in  camp  for  only  a  few  weeks  in  the 
States,  shipped  here  directly  from  the  base  port,  and  so  green  to 
France  that  they  don 't  even  know  what  oui  oui  means.  On  the  trip 
here  one  of  these  boys,  they  tell,  after  gazing  out  the  door  of  his 
"side-door  pullman"  in  silence  half  the  morning,  remarked  dis- 
gustedly; 

"This  is  a  hell  of  a  country! '* 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Why  all  the  stations  have  got  the  same  name!" 

"The  hell  they  have!   What's  the  name?" 

"Sortie!'' 


THE  ENGINEERS  145 

The  Major  in  command  of  the  new  arrivals  proves  to  be  an  old 
and  none  too  amicable  acquaintance  of  our  Major's,  their  mutual 
esteem  having  been  obscured  by  a  law-suit  some  time  in  the  past 
which  resulted  in  our  Major's  being  forced  to  part  with  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money.  To  make  himself  more  welcome  the  new 
Major  has  introduced  innovations.  Up  till  now,  in  accordance 
with  our  Major's  theories,  we  have  been  a  strictly  business  com- 
munity, our  energies  concentrated  chiefly  upon  what  the  boys 
call  P.  and  S. — ^pick  and  shovel.  But  now  with  the  coming  of  the 
new  detachment  we  have  blossomed  out  with  all  sorts  of  military 
frills.  Armed  sentinels  marching  their  beats  in  a  miUtary  manner 
fairly  encumber  the  camp.  One  is  halted  and  challenged  a  half- 
dozen  times  on  one's  way  home  from  the  canteen  at  ten  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  I  am  startled  out  of  my  dreams  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  by  shouts  of,  "Corporal  of  the  Guard,  Post  Number  Four!" 
under  my  very  window.  And  the  best  part  of  it  is  that  these 
"Long  Boys,"  never  having  had  so  much  as  the  A-B-C  of 
military  training,  make  the  drollest  imitations  of  real  soldiers 
that  ever  were.  The  atmosphere  at  Headquarters  has  of  late,  I 
gather,  been  slightly  tinged  with  electricity.  But  the  boys  belong- 
ing to  the  older  organizations  in  camp  have  been  enjoying  them- 
selves to  an  unholy  degree  "stuffing"  the  new  arrivals  with  ghastly 
tales  of  air-raids,  gas  bombs,  and  aerial  machine-gun  barrages. 

As  in  all  huts,  we  have  a  big  map  of  France  tacked  to  the  wall 
where  the  boys  can  have  easy  access  to  it.  After  one  of  these  maps 
has  been  up  a  short  while,  it  is  always  a  simple  matter  when  glanc- 
ing at  it,  to  locate  one's  self — one  has  only  to  look  for  a  dirty 
spot;  a  little  later,  countless  more  grimy  fingers  having  in  the 
meantime  been  applied,  one  looks  for  the  hole.  Yesterday  one 
of  our  new  friends  came  to  me  and  asked: 

"Please,  Ma'am,  could  you  tell  me  where  that  there  place, 
*No  Man's  Land'  that  they  talk  about  in  the  papers  is?  I've 
been  a-lookin'  an'  a-lookin'  an'  I  can't  find  it  on  the  map  nowhere." 

Along  with  the  new  engineers  Nanny  arrived  in  town.  Nanny 
is  an  Alabama  goat,  smuggled  on  board  the  transport  wrapped  up 


146  ABAINVILLE 

in  one  of  the  boys*  overcoats.  Her  fleece  is  pure  white  and  she  is 
fat  as  a  little  butter-ball.  Already  she  is  one  of  our  most  dis- 
tinguished citizens.  Possessed  of  an  adventurous  spirit,  she 
makes  herself  free  of  every  house  in  town,  being  particularly  fond 
of  climbing  stairs  and  appearing  at  unsuspected  moments  in  odd 
comers  of  one's  billet.  Madame  explains  the  attraction  here: 
"She  smells  an  American,  you  see!"  which  is  a  quaint  thought. 
Nanny  is  the  pet  detestation  of  the  Adjutant,  for  she  has  a  pen- 
chant for  straying  into  his  office  and  nibbling  at  every  paper  with- 
in reach.  Already  several  valuable  documents  have  disappeared 
down  her  greedy  little  throat.  Last  night,  in  revenge,  one  of  the 
boys  in  the  Adjutant's  office,  armed  with  a  pot  of  bright  red  paint, 
painted  Nanny  in  *'  dazzle"  designs.   Today  she  is  a  sight. 

This  morning  I  was  puzzled  to  observe  that  a  considerable 
number  of  the  newcomers  were  wearing  pink  tickets  in  their  hats. 

''What's  that?"  I  asked. 

**  Them?  Them's  meal  tickets ! "  They  explained ;  the  report  had 
gone  around  that  the  chow  of  one  of  the  companies  was  of  super- 
ior quality;  immediately  the  chow  line  of  that  same  company  had 
assumed  an  inordinate  length.  The  mess  sergeant,  unable,  since 
the  company  was  so  new,  to  distinguish  his  own  men  from  the 
self-invited  guests,  had  foimd  it  necessary  to  attach  tags  to  the 
company. 

With  the  coming  of  the  new  engineers,  the  sale  of  one  article 
in  stock  has  swelled  to  unprecedented  quantities.  One  member  of 
the  force  is  fairly  kept  busy  from  morning  until  night  cutting  off 
chunks  of  chewing  tobacco.  Texas  and  Oklahoma,  it  seems,  have 
unlimited  capacities  for  this  commodity.  Now  with  all  due  re- 
spect to  the  honourable  American  tribe  of  chewers,  this  indulgence 
raises  a  very  delicate  question  for  the  canteen  lady  in  whose 
charge  rests  the  appearance  of  the  hut.  The  scrap-boxes  are 
already  in  a  bad  way,  I  frankly  advocate  spittoons,  but  our 
detail,  who  is  a  very  superior  lad,  known  among  his  cronies  as 
"The  Infant"  because  of  his  pink  cheeks  and  innocently  solemn 
air,  flatly  refuses.    There  are  some  things,  he  declares,  to  which 


^     THE  ENGINEERS  147 

he  will  not  stoop,  and  he  grows  very  stiff  and  red  in  the  face  if  I 
hint  at  it. 

"I  have  discussed  the  matter,"  he  told  me  yesterday,  "with 
several  very  eminent  chewers,  and  they  all  agree  that  there  isn't 
the  slightest  necessity  for  their  behaviour!" 

There  may  not  be  any  necessity, — ^how  am  I  to  judge?  But 
there  is  a  very  actual  and  urgent  state  of  affairs.  And  what  is  one 
to  do  about  it? 

Abainville,  August  13. 

The  hut  is  finished.  Now  if  at  any  time  Marshal  Foch  or  Gen- 
eral Pershing  or  President  Poincar^  should  happen  this  way,  we 
could  say:  Come  in,  gentlemen,  and  behold  us;  don't  we  look  nice? 

The  main  part  of  the  hut,  the  big  auditorium,  is  done  in  creamy 
yellow  and  brown  with  rafters  of  bright  blue,  the  windows  hung 
with  curtains  of  sumptuous  orange  chintz.  The  writing-room  is 
blue  and  yellow  too,  with  green  and  yellow  curtains  on  which, 
in  a  bower  of  branches,  black-birds  perch;  runners  of  the  same 
material  lie  across  the  writing  tables,  the  practical  advantage  of 
this  pattern  being  that  whenever  anyone  spills  a  bottle  of  ink  on  a 
runner,  it  merely  gives  the  effect  of  one  more  black-bird.  In  each 
window  of  the  writing-room  is  a  Httle  pot  with  a  scarlet  geranium, 
while  the  walls  of  both  writing-room  and  auditorium  are  bright 
with  beautiful  French  posters. 

But  the  best  of  all  the  hut,  to  my  mind  at  least,  is  the  Tea  Room, 
— so-called  until  we  think  of  something  better  to  name  it, — for  the 
Tea  Room  was  my  own  particular  pet  scheme.  According  to  the 
plans,  the  ell  behind  the  canteen  counter  was  cut  up  into  half  a 
dozen  Httle  rooms.  By  eliminating  part  of  the  central  hall,  the 
"mess-room"  and  the  "ladies'  room"  and  moving  the  office  out 
to  an  unused  comer  by  the  movie  machine  booth,  we  got  space 
for  a  fair-sized  room  connected  by  a  serving-window  with  the 
kitchen.  Our  matched  lumber  having  run  short  we  used  rough 
lumber  and  covered  it  with  burlap;  each  strip  was  a  different  weave 
and  texture,  to  be  sure,  but  all  the  same  it  was  burlap!   The  wood- 


148  ABAINVILLE 

work  and  little  tables  we  painted  a  bright  green,  hung  vivid 
green  curtains  at  the  windows,  then,  taking  the  covers  of  chewing 
tobacco  boxes,  stained  these  green  too,  pasted  in  the  centre  of  each 
a  bright  little  water-color  reproduction  cut  from  an  English  art 
magazine,  tacked  them  up  on  the  walls,  and  voiW  as  pretty  a 
little  room  as  could  be  found  short  of  Paris! 

In  the  Tea  Room  we  serve  pink  lemonade,  hot  chocolate,  jam 
sandwiches,  cookies  and  canned  fruit.  The  boys  are  living  on  a 
diet  of  what  they  call  "goat's  meat"  at  present; — ^whenever  it  is 
time  for  a  chow  line  to  form  you  can  hear  a  chorus  of  bleats  and 
baas  half  across  the  camp, — and  so  sick  of  this  have  they  become 
that  many  will  sup  off  chocolate  and  sandwiches  in  the  Tea  Room 
by  preference.  Yesterday  I  took  a  chance  and  tried  making  a  ten 
gallon  boiler  full  of  raspberry  tapioca  pudding,  using  the  bottled 
fruit  juice.    At  first  the  boys  were  inclined  to  be  cautious. 

"What  do  you  call  that?  " 

"How  would  raspberry  slum  do?  " 

"Well,  I'll  try  anything  once!" 

But  after  the  first  taste  it  went  all  too  fast. 

"  Say,  are  there  any  seconds  on  this?  " 

"Lady,"  said  one  lad  solemnly  to  me,  "with  pudding  like  that 
I  could  stay  four  years  more  in  the  army." 

One  of  the  divisions  from  the  lines  arrived  in  this  area,  a  few 
days  ago,  for  a  short  period  of  rest.  A  number  of  the  men  are 
encamped  up  on  the  hill  near  the  old  Artillery  School  and  they 
come  straying  down  to  our  hut.  Poor  lads,  it  is  pitiful  to  see  how 
wonderful  it  seems  to  them  to  be  in  a  place  that  is  clean  and  pretty. 

"This  looks  like  a  bit  of  heaven  to  me,"  declared  one  boy. 

Another,  sitting  in  the  Tea  Room  stirring  his  chocolate,  com- 
mented, 

"  Gee,  this  is  a  swell  place  in  here.  You  ought  ter  get  some  fancy 
name  for  it." 

"What  would  you  suggest?'* 

"Well  I  should  think,"  he  looked  around,  "you  might  call  it 
Canary  Cottage." 


THE  ENGINEERS  149 

Yet  occasionally  I  wonder  if  it  really  all  pays,  as  when  I  pick 
out  the  cigar  butts  which,  in  spite  of  the  trash  boxes  beneath  the 
tables,  the  boys  will  persist  in  sticking  in  the  vases  of  flowers  and 
planting  in  the  geranium  pots,  or  when,  as  last  night,  I  catch  a 
fellow  using  one  of  the  beautiful  chintz  runners  from  ^he  tables 
with  which  to  wipe  thejnud  off  his  boots. 

Abainville,  August  21. 
Talk  kills  men. 

Don't  talk.    The  walls  have  ears. 

Keep  mum,  let  the  guns  talk  for  you. 

Thus  are  we  placarded.  Every  hut,  every  ^afe,  every  garage, 
every  place  of  any  sort  where  the  A.  E.  F.  may  meet  together  and 
indulge  in  conversation,  now  bears  a  board  with  some  such  legend 
printed  on  it  and  after  each  terse  warning  is  the  terser  admonition; 
Read  G.  O.  39.  A  campaign  of  silence  is  on  foot.  These  catchy 
phrases,  American  variations  on  the  classic  French  line:  Taisez 
vous,  mefiez  vous,  les  oreilles  ennemies  vous  ecoutent! — Be  still,  be- 
ware, the  ears  of  the  enemy  are  listening! — ^are  to  be  perpetual  re- 
minders to  us  that  we  are  all  too  prone  to  gossip  indiscreetly. 

As  to  just  what  one  may  say  and  mustn't  say,  I  for  one  confess, 
not  having  read  G.  O.  39,  that  I  am  in  a  quandary.  I  find  myself 
hesitating  before  mentioning  the  fact  that  we  had  baked  beans  for 
dinner.  As  for  talking  about  the  weather,  why  that  leads  naturally 
to  the  subject  of  moonlight  nights,  and  moonlight  nights,  as  every 
one  knows,  now  imply  not  romance  but  air-raids  and  air-raids  are 
of  course  a  tabooed  topic.  Indeed  I  am  beginning  to  have  a  sneak- 
ing conviction  that  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  discard  speech 
entirely  and  take  to  conversing  in  dumb  show. 

Sometimes  some  small  thing  that  comes  to  one's  attention  will 
crystallize  a  difference  between  two  races  so  sharply  as  to  be  start- 
ling. This  'was  impressed  on  me  the  other  day  by  two  posters. 
Both  the  French  land  American  authorities  have  recently  issued 
warnings  to  their  soldiers  concerning  the  practice  of  riding  on  the 


ISO  ABAINVILLE 

tops  of  railroad  cars,  since  this  habit  has  led  to  a  number  of  casual- 
ties.   The  French  poster  reads  something  like  this: 

Whereas  it  has  been  brought  to  the  attention  of  the  Commissioner 
of  Railroads,  that  various  accidents  have  occurred  resulting  from 
the  practice  indulged  in  by  soldiers  of  obtruding  a  portion  or  the 
whole  of  their  bodies  beyond  the  Umits  of  the  car;  it  is  urgently 
requested  that  the  soldiers  in  transit  upon  the  railroad  should 
henceforth  restrict  themselves  to  the  interior  of  the  cars. 

The  American  sign  runs  thus: 

*'If  you  want  to  see  the  next  block,  keep  yours  inside!  Your 
head  may  be  hard  but  it's  not  as  hard  as  concrete!"  Pithily  it 
states  the  number  of  casualties  resulting  from  this  trick,  explains 
that  the  French  bridges  and  tunnels  only  allow  six  inches  clearance 
above  the  top  of  the  cars,  and  ends; 

"Your  life  may  not  be  worth  anything  to  you,  but  it  may  cost 
your  country  $10,000." 

But  the  triumph  of  American  sign  art,  a  specimen  of  which  hangs 
in  the  Adjutant's  office,  is  the  gas-defense  poster.  It  starts  ofif 
with  the  Gas  School  slogan: 

"There  are  two  classes  of  men  in  a  gas  attack,  the  quick  and  the 
dead,"  proceeds  to  poetry: 

"The  hard-boiled  guy  said  gas  was  bunk, 

It  couldn't  hurt  you,  only  stunk 

The  hard-boiled  guy  went  up  the  line, 
Fritz  spilled  the  mustard  good  and  fine; 
And  now  some  people  wonder  why 
It's  flowers  for  the  hard-boiled  guy," 

and  ends  with  the  admonition  that  seems  a  Uttle  ironical  to  one 
who  must  struggle  to  make  green  wood  burn  in  a  broken-down 
French  range;  "Cook  with  it,  don't  croak  with  it." 

To-day  we  put  up  a  sign  iall  of  our  own  over  the  counter.  For 
some  reason,  transportation  probably,  there  has  been  a  most  dis- 
tressing lack  of  supplies  in  this  area  recently.  Not  only  are  we 
suffering,  but  the  Salvation  Army  and  even  the  sales  com  mis- 


THE  ENGINEERS  151 

saries  have  all  been  stricken  with  the  same  famine.  Indeed  I  was 
told  of  one  commissary  which  bore  the  warning;  "We  have  salt, 
mustard  and  baking  powder.  That's  all."  Tired  of  replying  several 
hundred  times  a  day;  *'I'm  awfully  sorry  but  we  haven't  any 
so-and-so,"  I  made  a  sign  which  was  a  Ust  of  aU  the  ''haven't  gots" 
and  tacked  it  up  over  the  counter.  Thinking  to  be  funny  I  in- 
cluded strawberry  ice-cream  among  the  rest,  to  be  promptly  pun- 
ished by  an  innocent-eyed  youth  who  inquired  hopefully;  "What 
kind  of  ice-cream  have  you  got?  " 

Another  boy  read  through  the  list  once,  twice,  then  looked  up 
at  the  Infant  disgustedly. 
"Why  don't  you  put  'Hell!'  at  the  bottom  of  it?"  he  queried. 
"  'Pears  to  me  it  would  be  easier  to  make  a  Hst  of  the  things 
you  have  got,"  suggested  another. 

A  Uttle  while  longer  and  if  no  help  comes,  we  shall  be  doing  this. 
I  can  see  that  sign  in  my  mind's  eye  now.  It  'will  read  something 
Hke  this: 

We  have 
chewing  tobacco 
indelible  pencils 

and 
shaving  brushes 

Abainville,  September  2. 
Once  a  month,  according  to  schedule,  the  whole  personnel  of 
the  division  is  summoned  to  Y.  Headquarters  at  Gondrecourt  for 
a  conference.  Formerly  these  conferences  were  largely  religious  in 
significance,  consisting  of  much  righteousness  with  a  slight  leaven 
of  business.  Each  one  in  turn  was  looked  forward  to  as  a  pious  but 
unprofitable  duty  and  evaded  when  possible, — ^which  wasn't  often. 
Now  with  a  change  in  the  directorship  the  conferences  have  taken 
on  an  almost  entirely  practical  tone.  Incidentally  they  have 
gained  amazingly  in  popularity.  For  now  one  can  attend  a  con- 
ference with  confidence  that  during  its  progress  one  will  surely 
glean  more  than  one  quaint  bit  of  human  comedy. 


152  ABAINVILLE 

Today  it  was  the  Aviation  Camp  Secretary  who  supplied  most 
of  the  spice.  This  is  an  odd  but  very  earnest  httle  man  whom  I 
shall  always  remember  as  I  saw  him  at  the  Gondrecourt  railway 
station  last  May,  starting  for  Paris  dressed  up  in  a  "tin  hat"  and 
a  gas  mask.  Whether  this  was  in  order  to  bluff  Paris  into  thinking 
that  he  had  come  straight  from  the  front,  or  whether  this  was  to 
protect  himself  against  the  assaults  of  Big  Bertha  while  in  the  city, 
I  could  not  determine,  but  never  since  have  I  been  able  to  take  the 
gentleman  quite  seriously. 

The  Aviation  Secretary  created  the  first  sensation  by  rising 
suddenly  to  his  feet  and  reading  a  motion  to  the  effect  that  the 
Gondrecourt  Division  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  should  go  on  record  as 
registering  a  protest  against  "  the  wicked  state  of  the  Paris  streets," 
citing  Mr.  Edward  Bok  and  his  action  in  the  case  of  the  streets 
of  Liverpool.  For  a  moment  no  one  said  a  word,  then  a  secretary 
arose  and  requested  that  the  motion  be  amended  to  read  more 
clearly,  as  in  its  present  form  it  might  be  taken  to  refer  to  the 
condition  of  the  paving,  or  the  criminal  recklessness  of  the  taxi 
drivers.  The  Warehouse  Man  then  solemnly  proposed  that  in  view 
of  Mr.  Bok  a  ruling  should  be  passed  that  while  in  Paris  all  sec- 
retaries should  be  required  to  travel  by  the  subway  or  in  a  cab.  I 
wanted  to  ask  if  it  wouldn't  do  just  as  well  if  special  prayers 
should  be  offered  for  each  secretary  on  his  departure  for  the  wicked 
city,  but  refrained. 

No  sooner  had  the  excitement  over  the  Paris  streets  subsided, 
than  the  Aviation  Secretary  was  on  his  feet  again  with  a  second 
resolution.  This  was  in  effect  a  petition  to  the  Paris  office  that 
they  send  us  proportionately  less  tobacco  and  more  sweets  for  sale 
in  the  canteens.  This  precipitated  a  fiery  argimient,  the  smokers 
lined  up  against  the  non-smokers.  Listening  to  the  ,non-smokers 
you  became  convinced  that  the  manhood  of  America  was  on  its 
way  to  ruin  through  excessive  cigarettes;  Ustening  to  the  smokers 
you  became  equally  certain  that  the  war  would  be  won  by  tobacco 
smoke.  The  situation  became  so  tense  one  could  almost  see  the 
sparks  in  the  air.   In  the  end  the  smokers  had  it. 


THE  ENGINEERS  153' 

The  next  thrill  was  caused  by  one_of  the  women  workers  who  in 
the  course  of  a  speech  took  occasion  to  deprecate  the  house- 
keeping abilities  of  the  men  secretaries.  On  Fourth  of  July,  she 
declared,  when  the  chocolate  cups  from  all  over  the  area  had  been 
sent  into  Gondrecourt  for  the  celebration  there,  some  of  them  had 
been  discovered  to  be  in  a  shocking  state.  These  had  later  been 
traced  to  a  hut  where  there  was  no  woman  worker.  Instantly  the 
Aviation  Secretary  'Was  up  again.  This  charge  'was  a  personal 
matter,  he  declared,  as  the  cups  in  question  had  been  his.  How- 
ever he  denied  the  implication.  The  cups  had  been  perfectly  clean 
when  they  left  the  hut,  they  must  have  become  soiled  en  route. 
And  so  the  conference  comedy  is  played  out. 

At  the  town  bf  X.  there  is  a  secretary  who  declares  he  is  de- 
voting his  life  to  the  service  of  the  Lord.  Some  years  ago  he 
found  himself  becoming  deaf.  So  he  told  the  Lord  that  if  He 
would  restore  his  hearing  he  would  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  in 
performing  good  works.  'He  was  cured.  Last  week  he  created  a 
corner  on  eggs  in  this  vicinity  by  buying  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dozen  at  five  francs  per.  Now  he  is  reselUng  them  for  six. 
Wanting  eggs  badly  to  make  custard  for  some  sick  boys  here,  and 
not  being  able  to  obtain  them  any  other  way,  I  walked  over  to  X. 
and  bought  two  dozen.  When  I  got  home  I  counted  them,  there 
were  just  twenty-three.  Surely  the  Lord  got  the  worst  of  that 
bargain! 

Abainville,  September  9. 

Something  is  going  to  happen. 

We  have  been  used  to  seeing  the  French  Army  go  by;  intermin- 
able fines  of  camions,  so  many  feet  apart,  rolHng  through  the  town 
for  hours  on  end.  Sometimes  we  have  seen  a  section  pass  through 
on  its  way  to  the  front,  only  to  return  again  some  ten  days  later. 
Once  seen,  a  French  camion  train  is  never  forgotten,  for  each 
automobile  section  bears  painted  on  its  sides  the  distinctive 
insignia  of  the  unit.  These  are  sometimes  droll,  sometimes  senti- 
mental, but  always    cleverly    designed   and  usually  striking, — 


154  ABAINVILLE 

a  poilu  drinking  pinard  from  his  canteen,  a  pelican,  a  polar  bear, 
a  dancing  monkey,  a  soldier  embracing  a  peasant  girl,  a  grinning 
Algerian's  head  in  ear  rings  and  a  red  fez,  a  gendarme  holding  up 
a  threatening  club. 

But  now  by  day,  by  night,  it  is  the  Americans  who  are  passing 
through,  their  faces  set  toward  the  front,  on  troop-trains,  in 
camions,  on  foot.  Coming  home  from  the  canteen  in  the  evening 
one  hears  the  heavy  rattle  that  means  artillery  on  the  move,  and 
standing  by  the  road-side  peering  through  the  darkness  one  can 
just  discern  horses  and  caissons,  slat-wagons,  supply-wagons  and, 
looming  ominously  in  the  dim  light,  the  formidable  bulk  of  the 
great  guns. 

Night  before  last  I  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  troops  pas- 
sing, a  regiment  of  infantry  on  the  march.  I  lay  and  listened; 
the  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  the  rhythmic  feet  was  unvarying, 
incessant,  then  came  a  break.  The  order  had  been  given  to  halt 
for  a  rest.  The  ,boys  were  evidently  sitting  down  by  the  edge  of  the 
road.    But  though  they  rested  they  were  by  no  means  still. 

"0/f  Mademoiselle!"  they  entreated  the  dark  and  'unrespon- 
sive houses,  "  Ok;<  Mademoiselle!  Deux  vin  rouge  toot  sweet  s^il 
vous  plait,  Mademoiselle!'^ 

They  swore  genially.  They  sang  snatches  of  Eail,  hail  the 
gang's  all  here  and  Tipperary.  One  boy  had  a  mouth  organ  which 
he  played  with  vim.  Someone  introduced  a  barnyard  motif  and 
they  were  off,  crowing  and  cackling,  mooing  and  bleating,  imitat- 
ing every  animal  known  to  domestic  life.  They  sounded  like 
schoolboys  off  for  a  holiday  and  my  God!  they  were  soldiers  on 
the  march  to  the  front,  their  faces  set  to  the  battle! 

Tonight  as  we  came  home  from  the  hut,  we  were  startled  by 
a  strange  sight.  The  sky  was  clear,  except  for  one  dark  mass 
shaped  like  a  cloud  of  smoke  which  hung  above  the  horizon  to 
the  north.  As  we  looked,  suddenly  the  under  side  of  the  cloud 
turned  an  angry  crimson,  then  in  a  moment  grew  dark  again.  A 
minute  later  the  red  glow  showed  again  only  to  fade  out  and  be 
repeated.    We  knew  that  the  angry  light  must  be  the  glare  re- 


THE  ENGINEERS  155 

fleeted  from  the  flashes  of  the  guns  which  were  belching  red  death 
across  the  lines.    All  at  once  the  battle-field  seemed  very  near. 

Abainville,  September  14. 

We  have  taken  the  Saint  Mihiel  salient!  The  news  came  in 
yesterday  over  the  wires.  At  first  we  couldn't  believe  it.  We 
have  heard  so  many  wonderful  but  alas!  too  hopeful  things  over 
those  wires!  But  now  the  newspapers  have  proved  it,  with  their 
maps  showing  the  salient  cut  off  as  clean  as  by  a  knife.  And 
if  we  wanted  concrete  proof,  why  we  have  that  too.  They 
have  sent  for  a  detail  of  engineers  from  Abainville  to  build  hurry- 
up  prison  pens.  They  simply  haven't  any  place  to  put  the  thou- 
sands of  captive  Germans.  The  detail  set  out  in  high  spirits  look- 
ing forward  to  doing  a  brisk  business  in  souvenirs;  already  reports 
have  come  in  to  the  effect  that  buttons  and  shoulder-straps  may 
be  had  in  exchange  for  a  cigarette,  and  a  ring  for  a  sack  of  five- 
cent  "smoking." 

The  inhabitants  of  Saint  Mihiel,  they  say,  were  terror-stricken 
at  the  sight  of  the  Americans.  When  our  troops  first  entered  the 
town  they  beheved  the  city  had  been  retaken.  The  Americans, 
they  thought,  were  Austrians.  No  one  in  Saint  Mihiel  had  ever 
seen  an  American;  they  hadn't  even  known  America  was  in  the 
war! 

But  even  in  Saint  Mihiel  I  don't  beheve  that  there  was  any 
greater  joy  than  the  joy  that  was  here  in  our  own  kitchen.  Mad- 
ame who  helps  us  with  the  dishes  at  the  hut  is  the  daughter  of  the 
refugee  schoolmaster,  a  shy,  sensitive,  appealing  httle  woman, 
girl-Uke  in  spite  of  her  half-grown  daughter.  When  we  told  her 
that  the  saKent  had  been  taken  she  went  white  and  trembled. 
And  what  of  Vieville?  she  begged;  Vieville,  her  own  Httle  village? 
We  got  the  map  and  showed  it  to  her.  Sure  enough,  there  was 
Vieville  and  the  new  line  stretching  the  other  side  of  it!  It  was 
true  past  doubting.  Madame  shivered.  "I  don't  know  whether 
to  laugh  or  to  cry,"  she  told  us  and  there  were  sobs  in  her  voice 
while  she  smiled  at  us.    She  tried  to  go  on  with  scrubbing  the  floor, 


IS6  ABAINVILLE 

but  she  couldn't.  Would  we  mind  if  she  ran  home  for  a  minute? 
She  must  tell  the  news  to  Papa  and  Maman.  But  certainly,  stay  as 
long  as  you  like!  we  told  her.  In  an  hour  she  was  back  again,  to 
go  about  her  work  in  a  dazed  uncertain  fashion,  smiling  tremu- 
lously while  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  We  must  get  someone  to 
take  her  place  at  the  canteen,  she  told  us, — they  would  be  going 
back  to  Vieville  right  away.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  she  would 
have  liked  to  start  that  very  moment.  We  said  nothing.  Of 
course  it  was  impossible.  Vieville  though  liberated  was  close  to 
the  Unes.  When  I  looked  at  Madame  so  happy,  so  confidently 
eager  to  return  to  her  home,  I  sickened  to  think  of  the  ruin  that 
probably  awaited  her.  How  do  they  have  the  courage  to  face  it, 
these  French  people?  I  thought  of  the  words  of  the  old  school- 
master: "We  are  living  under  tension  now,  it  is  the  strain  that 
keeps  us  up.  When  the  war  is  over  there  will  be  a  terrible  reac- 
tion." They  have  been  brave,  so  brave,  these  peasant  villagers, 
but  how  will  they  bear  the  future?  Where  will  they  be  swept  when 
they  are  caught  in  the  fearful  ebb  of  that  reaction? 

Already  odd-looking  Httle  German  narrow-gauge  engines  and 
freight  cars  have  begun  to  appear  in  the  yards,  part  of  the  Saint 
Mihiel  booty.    It  does  the  eyes  good  to  look  at  them. 

One  doesn't  want  to  hope  too  greatly,  but  is  it  possible  that 
this  may  be  the  beginning  of  the  end? 

Abainville,  Septeaiber  i8. 

Last  night  they  bombed  Gondrecourt.  We  were  startled  out  of 
our  sleep  by  the  explosions.  Lying  in  bed  I  could  hear  the  angry 
growling  gr  gr  gr  which  distinguishes  the  German  plane,  as  it 
flew  over  Abainville  headed  back  towards  the  lines.  Would  it 
drop  another  bomb?  It  seemed  to  take  an  interminable  time  to 
pass  over  us.  Finally  the  growling  hum  grew  faint,  died  away. 
Then  the  real  excitement  of  the  night  began.  Swarming  into  the 
streets,  men,  women  and  children,  they  proceeded  to  turn  the 
occasion  into  a  social  event.  Standing  in  the  square  in  the  moon- 
light, all  talking  at  once  and  all  talking  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
they  discussed,  narrated,  compared,  commented,  sympathized, 


THE  ENGINEERS  157 

while  high  above  all  the  din  I  could  hear  Madame 's  voice  in  semi- 
hysterical  outbursts  of  emotion.  How  they  could  find  so  much  to 
say  about  it  I  can't  imagine.  If  Hindenburg's  Whole  army  had 
suddenly  appeared  in  Gondrecourt  they  couldn't  have  been  more 
excited.  I  went  to  sleep  and  left  them  still  busy  analyzing,  as  I 
took  it,  their  psychological  reactions. 

This  morning  we  learned  that  the  bombs,  falling  at  the  edge 
of  the  town,  had  injured  nothing  except  a  few  trees. 

"What  would  you  do  if  they  should  start  to  bomb  Abainville?" 
I  asked  Madame  when  she  brought  me  my  morning  toast  and 
chocolate. 

"I?    I  would  go  to  the  church.'* 

"What  you,  the  infidel!   You  who  never  go  to  mass!'* 

"I  know."  Madame  smiled  a  Httle  sheepishly.  "And  yet  all 
the  same,  one  would  feel  safer  there." 

At  the  canteen  a  lieutenant  who  was  just  finishing  his  course 
at  Gondrecourt  came  in. 

"Nobody  can  imagine  who  should  have  wanted  to  bomb  the 
school,"  he  declared,  "unless  it  was  some  former  pupil." 

"Why  I  was  told  that  the  Gondrecourt  School  was  the  ranking 
school  of  France!"    I  exclaimed. 

"Made  a  mistake  in  the  last  syllable,"  he  responded  sourly, 
"it  should  have  been  spelled  e-s-t." 

But  if  the  inhabitants  of  Abainville  have  experienced  no  losses 
through  air-raids  yet,  they  have  nevertheless,  suffered  a  minor 
casualty.  Victor,  the  town  simpleton,  the  genial,  harmless  Victor, 
was  knocked  down  by  a  passing  automobile  yesterday  and  became 
separated  from  his  left  ear  in  the  ensuing  confusion.  Poor  wretch! 
I  saw  him  this  morning  hobbling  down  the  street  with  a  cane,  his 
head  swathed  in  bandages,  but  the  same  old  cheerful  smile  on  his 
half-wit  face,  as  he  cocked  one  eye  warily  on  the  look-out  for 
approaching  autos.  Meanwhile  a  heated  controversy  is  being 
waged  between  the  medical  officers  of  Abainville  as  to  whether  or 
not  that  ear  might  after  all  have  been  saved. 


iS8  ABAINVILLE 


Saint  Malo,  Brittany,  September  23 
Today  I  took  tea  with  a  Baroness,  not  only  I,  but  about  eighty 
odd  members  of  the  A.  E.  F.  here  en  permission  Uke  myself.  Our 
hostess  was  an  American  lady,  the  widow  of  a  French  Baron;  the 
tea  a  weekly  party  held  at  her  Chateau  out  in  the  country,  to  which 
all  boys  on  leave  in  this  Brittany  area  are  invited. 

We  took  the  funny  little  narrow-gauge  train  from  Saint  Malo, 
a  "mixed"  train  and  so  crowded  by  the  tea  party  that  the  boys 
must  ride  in  the  baggage  car  and  on  the  flat  freight  cars,  and  started 
our  journey  out  to  Ch^teauneuf.  The  feature  of  the  train  trip 
was  the  blackberries.  Here  in  Brittany  these  grow  all  along  the 
roadsides,  the  bushes  topping  the  narrow  earth-covered  walls  like 
dykes  that  serve  for  fences.  Strangely  enough  in  this  land  of 
thrift,  the  blackberries  go  untouched,  untasted.  A  Frenchman 
who  lectured  to  us  last  spring  declared  that  as  a  child  he  was  warned 
not  to  eat  them:  they  would  give  him  Hce,  he  was  told.  This,  he 
explained,  was  the  method  which  French  parents  took  to  dissuade 
their  children  from  eating  berries  which,  growing  along  the  road- 
sides, would  be  full  of  dust — a  quaint  scruple  to  find  among  people 
ordinarily  so  superior  to  sanitary  considerations!  But  the  Ameri- 
cans had  no  such  superstitions;  at  every  crossroads  stop  we  made, 
the  boys  swarmed  off  the  cars  and  fell  upon  the  wayside  bushes. 
I  tasted  some  that  one  of  the  boys  brought  back  for  me.  Compared 
to  our  blackberries  at  home  they  were  flat  and  flavorless,  but  any- 
way they  were  fruit  and  they  were  free  and  that  was  all  the  A.  E.  F. 
demanded. 

Arrived  at  Ch^teauneuf,  we  must  first  file  through  the  reception 
room  where  each  and  all  of  us  shook  hands  with  the  Baroness,  a 
gracious,  stately  old  lady  dressed  in  black,  and  then  out  upon  the 
lawn  beyond  the  long  ivy-covered,  many-gabled  house,  to  sit  upon 
the  grass  and  drink  our  tea.  But  tea  was  a  misnomer  unless  it 
might  have  been  the  sort  which  the  English  call  "high  tea,"  it  was 
a  supper;  salad,  sandwiches,  buttermilk  and  fruit  punch  served  on 
real  china  plates  and  in  dainty  goblets.    Many  a  covetous  eye  I 


THE  ENGINEERS  159 

saw  fixed  on  the  silver  forks  with  the  coronets  engraved  on  them, 
while  the  whispered  word  "souvenir"  caught  my  ear,  but  to  the 
boys'  credit  I  am  glad  to  say  that,  as  far  as  I  know,  they  one  and 
all  resisted  this  temptation. 

After  supper  the  boys  sang  and  then  we  were  invited  to  go 
through  the  house  and  wander  about  the  grounds  and  garden. 
Coming  back  to  the  house  after  having  made  the  rounds,  the  boy 
who  was  with  me  suddenly  stopped  stock-still. 

"Well  I'll  be  darned!" 

Before  us  wound  a  tiny  stream  and  perched  on  its  bank  an  old, 
old  peasant  woman  was  busy  scrubbing  what  was  evidently  the 
Chateau  wash.  The  boy  turned  and  looked  at  me  despairingly, 
"And  for  all  that's  such  a  fine  house,"  he  groaned,  "I  suppose  there 
ain't  so  much  as  a  speck  of  plumbing  in  the  whole  blamed  build- 
ing!" 

On  the  lawn  we  found  games  were  in  progress.  All  the  young- 
sters from  the  neighborhood  had  assembled  to  watch  the  Americans 
at  the  tea  party.  At  first  they  had  hung  shyly  on  the  outskirts, 
but  now  a  lad  from  the  air  service  had  started  them  to  romping. 
Taking  hold  of  hands  a  long  fine  of  these  Uttle  gamin  would  pursue 
a  soldier  victim,  encircle  him,  bring  him  to  earth,  then  pile  on  him, 
holding  him  a  helpless  prisoner  until  he  bought  his  liberty  with  a 
ransom  of  cigarettes,  gum  or  coppers.  It  was  a  wonderful  game 
for  the  children  but  I  could  not  help  but  watch  with  apprehension, 
every  time  there  was  a  pig-pile,  to  see  where  all  those  wooden 
shoes  would  land. 

Coming  home,  we  walked  to  the  little  fishing  village  next  door 
and  took  the  train  there.  As  this  visit  to  the  village  is  also  a  weekly 
affair,  all  the  inhabitants  were  on  their  door-steps  to  greet  us,  the 
women  with  their  red  cheeks,  dressed  invariably  in  black  dresses 
and  Httle  stiffly  starched  net  caps.  We  went  into  the  church  with 
its  array  of  votive  offerings  in  the  shape  of  tiny  models  of  fishing 
boats  and  then,  on  our  way  to  the  station,  stopped  to  view,  over 
the  hedge,  the  picture-book  garden  of  one  old  fisherman  in  which 
the  trees  and  shrubs  were  all  cKpped  and  trained  into  the  quaintest 


i6o  ABAINVILLE 

shapes — peacocks  and  animals  and  little  ships.  As  the  crowd 
moved  on  I  lingered.  An  old  man  leaning  on  a  cane,  who  had  been 
watching  from  the  road-side,  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  me. 
He  was  the  owner  of  the  garden.  He  wanted  to  express  to  me  his 
gratitude  to  America,  America  who  had  saved  France!  "Ah! 
Vive  VAmeriquer^  The  old  fellow's  tribute,  unsoHcited  and  un- 
premeditated evidently,  touched  me  deeply. 

Abainville,  October  4. 

While  I  was  away  it  seems  several  things  occurred.  For  one, 
we  lost  Nanny.  Whether  some  enterprising  mess  sergeant  thought 
the  day's  menu  would  be  improved  by  the  addition  of  kid  pie, 
whether  some  French  family  lured  her  away  to  be  interned  in  their 
back  yard,  or  whether,  as  one  might  more  darkly  suspect,  the  Ad- 
jutant had  something  to  do  with  the  matter;  nobody  knows.  The 
bare  fact  confronts  us:  Nanny  has  disappeared. 

We  have  also  lost  one  of  our  most  picturesque  customers.  This 
was  a  handsome  young  Greek  with  a  beautiful  curled  mustache, 
named  Niccolo.  He  used  to  hold  up  the  chocolate  Hne,  while,  his 
eyes  fairly  shooting  fire,  he  rolled  up  his  sleeves  and  showed  me 
the  scars  of  the  bayonet  wounds  which  he  received  fighting  the 
Turks.  "The  German,  he  just  the  same  the  Turk!  I  tella  the 
Captain  he  letta  me  go  front,  killa  ten,  twenty,  hundred  Germans!" 
Why  such  a  bloodthirsty  soul  as  his  should  be  cribbed,  cabined  and 
confined  in  an  engineer  regiment,  he  never  explained.  Just  before 
I  went  away  on  leave  a  detail  of  prisoners  from  the  guard-house 
arrived  at  the  hut  one  morning  to  scrub  the  floor.  To  my  regret 
I  noticed  Noccolo  was  among  them.  Niccolo,  however,  did  not 
seem  to  mind,  he  was  quite  happily  occupied  with  telling  the  others 
how  the  work  should  be  done. 

"That  feller's  nuts,"  complained  a  fellow-prisoner  to  me,  "he 
spends  all  his  time  when  he's  in  the  brig,  tryin'  to  read  the  Bible 
to  us." 

While  I  was  away  they  sent  him  to  the  Gondrecourt  hospital 
on  suspicion  of  insanity.   The  other  night  he  escaped  and  made  his 


THE  ENGINEERS  i6i 

way  back  to  Abainville  clad  in  his  hospital  pajamas,  only  to  be 
caught  and  taken  back  again.  Poor  Niccolo  with  his  beautiful 
mustache  and  his  fiery  spirit!  I  am  sorry  he  never  had  the  chance 
to  get  those  Germans. 

Worst  of  all,  the  Y.  is  in  disgrace  with  the  officers.  It  came  about 
through  the  matter  of  seats  at  the  movies.  The  officers  wanted 
to  come  to  the  shows  and  they  also  wanted  seats  reserved  for  them; 
naturally  they  wanted  the  best  seats.  Now  this  is  always  a  vexed 
and  deHcate  problem  in  a  hut,  for  if  the  officers  ask  for  reserved 
seats  one  can't  very  well  refuse  them,  and  yet  to  grant  them  is  to 
raise  resentment  among  the  men.  When  I  left  the  matter  was  hang- 
ing at  loose  ends.  Shortly  afterwards  our  Secretary,  who  is  more 
distinguished  for  sentimentality  than  tact,  had  an  inspiration;  he 
would  put  it  up  to  the  men.  Undoubtedly  when  the  case  was  laid 
before  them,  their  nobler  natures  would  be  touched  and  they  would 
discern  that  it  was  their  patrotic  duty  to  voluntarily  rehnquish 
the  best  seats  in  the  house  to  their  mihtary  superiors.  So  one  night 
just  as  the  show  was  due  to  start  the  Secretary  walked  out  onto 
the  stage  and  made  his  little  speech,  ending  with  the  appeal: 

"And  now  boys,  where  shall  we  put  the  officers?" 

A  perfect  roar  answered  him.  *'Put  'em  on  the  roof!  Put  'em 
on  the  roof!" 

It  was  frightfully  embarrassing.  The  officers  were  furious.  They 
withdrew  and  called  a  mass-meeting  to  consider  the  matter.  What 
the  exact  statute  that  covered  the  case  was  I  don't  know.  I  sup- 
pose the  crime  was  one  of  a  sort  of  mihtary  Use  MajestL  Anyway 
the  Secretary  had  indisputably  laid  himseK  liable  to  a  court-martial. 
In  the  end,  however,  the  officers  decided  that  as  long  as  the  case  was 
one  of  stupidity  rather  than  malice,  they  would  let  the  Secretary 
go  with  a  warning. 

And  now  they  have  stationed  spotters  among  us!  The  hut,  it 
seems,  has  proved  to  possess  an  all  too  potent  charm  for  boys  who 
should  by  rights  be  engaged  at  "pick  and  shovel"  and  other  uninvit- 
ing but  necessary  occupations.  In  view  of  this  the  authorities  have 
taken  drastic  action;  passes  must  now  be  issued  to  the  boys  to 


i62  ABAINVILLE 

allow  them  to  enter  the  hut  during  work  hours,  and  alas  for  the 
unhappy  lad  who  ventures  m  without  a  permit,  the  lynx-like  eye 
of  the  amateur  detective  detail  is  sure  to  light  upon  himl 

Abainville,  October  ii. 

Nanny  has  returned!  She  was  found  tethered  in  a  backyard 
in  a  nearby  village.  Since  the  French  household  which  claimed 
her  as  their  lawful  property  refused  to  reUnquish  her  peacefully, 
she  was  taken  by  storm.  There  was  a  scrimmage,  the  neighbors 
raUied  to  their  friends'  assistance.  But  the  two  lads  who  had  been 
the  discoverers  managed  to  break  away  bearing  the  struggling 
Nanny  with  them  and,  followed  by  the  whole  village  shouting 
*'Stop  thief!"  gained  their  truck  and  rolled  triumphantly  away. 
No  longer,  however,  does  Nanny  wander  at  large,  innocently 
trimming  the  villagers'  cabbage  rows,  or  slipping  slyly  into  the 
Adjutant's  office  to  sample  his  latest  orders.  Nanny  is  under 
guard.    The  engineers  are  taking  no  chances. 

Yesterday  we  acquired  a  kitten, — a  ^wild-eyed  yellow  scrap 
brought  in  last  night  by  a  lad  as  an  offering.  The  boys  immed- 
iately christened  her  "The  O.  D.  Cat."  Every  time  I  give  her  a 
caress  some  one  of  the  boys  leaning  over  the  counter  is  sure  to 
remark:  "Gee,  wish  I  was  a  cat!" 

"But  what  shall  I  feed  her?"  I  questioned,  thinking  of  the 
difficulty  of  fresh  milk. 

"Com  willy  and  cognac!  What  else  would  you  give  an  O.  D. 
cat?"  they  chorused. 

"And  where  shall  she  spend  the  night?" 

"I'll  keep  her  for  you  ma'am,"  volunteered  a  brawny  Texan, 
"She'll  sleep  right  in  the  bunk  longside  o'  me." 

This  morning  the  canteen  was  full  of  tales  of  the  night.  "Yes 
sir!  he  tied  her  up  to  a  post  with  a  rope  as  big  around  as  your 
arm!  An'  the  pore  cat  nearly  hanged  herself.  She  hollered  aU 
night  long!" 

This  the  Texan  emphatically  denied;  he  had  a  tale  all  of  his  own 
to  tell  however. 


THE  ENGINEERS  163 

"There  was  a  mouse  last  night  in  the  barracks.  It  was  the 
littlest  mouse  you  ever  seen,  but  it  chased  that  cat  all  around 
them  barracks.    Yes  ma'am,  it  sure  did  run  that  cat  ragged!'* 

''Did  you  give  her  any  breakfast?"  I  asked,  disdaining  any 
conmient  on  his  story. 

"Sure  ma'am!   I  gave  her  a  saucerful  of  cognac." 

"You  never  did!" 

"Yes,  an'  it  did  that  cat  good,  it  did.  Soon's  she'd  lapped 
up  that  saucer;  'Bring  on  your  rnouse!'  she  says."  He  shook  his 
head  reflectively.  "My,  but  that  cat  sure  was  feelin'  its  strength 
this  mornin'!" 

"Waste  cognac  on  a  cat!  That's  a  likely  story  for  that* guy  to 
be  telling!"  was  the  single  comment  of  the  bystanders. 

Right  here  I  wish  to  record  a  formal  apology  to  the  Secretary 
at  X  who  sold  me  the  six-franc  eggs  a  month  ago.  Today  I  was 
talking  to  the  Top  Sergeant  whom  I  encountered  on  my  way  home 
and  who  carried  my  basket  for  me.  From  something  he  let  fall 
I  now  more  than  suspect  it  was  he  who  accounted  for  that  twenty- 
fourth  egg! 

Abainville,  October  16. 

His  real  name,  of  course,  is  Horace  but  since  Madame  refers  to 
him  as  'Greece,  as  'Greece  he  must  go, — 'Greece  is  our  new  detail. 
He  is  cautious,  conscientious  and  slow.  If  'Greece  ever  showed 
signs  of  having  spunk  enough  to  do  something  that  was  really  bad, 
I  Would  feel  that  there  Was  hope  for  him.  Madame,  who  adores 
the  Infant,  is  very  cold  to  'Greece.  The  other  day  she  requested 
him  to  save  her  all  the  cigar  stubs  he  found  while  sweeping.  She 
wanted  them  for  an  old  derelict  of  a  Frenchman  who  is  a  sort  of 
scavenger  around  camp.  Poor  old  papa  could  smoke  the  butts 
nicely  in  his  pipe  she  declared.  But  'Greece  was  so  disobliging  as 
to  turn  'his  nose  up  ^t  lier  proposal.  Anyway  'Greece  cuts  the 
bread  for  the  jam-sandwiches  very,  very  nicely. 

Three  nights  ago  we  had  an  air-raid  alarm.  The  evening's 
programme  was  over  but  the  hut  was  still  full  of  boys.  Suddenly 
without  any  warning,  all  the  lights  went  out.    We  looked  out  the 


i64  ABAINVILLE 

door,  the  camp  was  in  total  darkness.  In  the  machine-gun  pit 
nearby  we  could  hear  quick  excited  orders  interspersed  with  curses, 
— the  gunners  were  getting  ready  to  stand  off  the  aeroplanes. 
The  boys  left  the  hut.  We  waited  for  a  while  and  then,  getting 
tired  of  the  dark,  went  home.  The  planes  didn't  show  up;  I  went 
to  bed  feeling  that  it  had  been  a  case  of  Hamlet  without  Hamlet. 

Last  night  we  were  in  the  middle  of  a  movie  show  when  a  shat- 
tering explosion  sounded  outside.  Back  in  the  kitchen  where  I 
was  serving  hot  chocolate  to  the  Tea  Room  line,  everyone  started 
and  stared.  Was  it  a  raid?  Surely  that  was  a  bomb!  There  was 
another  explosion.  Then  the  lights  went  out.  So  it  was  the  real 
thing!  I  seized  the  Cash-box  knd  stood  pat.  Another  crash; 
instantly  outside  there  was  a  stampede.  In  the  dark  it  was  im- 
possible to  see  just  what  was  happening,  but  from  the  sounds 
it  appeared  that  about  seven  hundred  pairs  of  hob-nailed  shoes 
were  doing  double-quick  time  out  the  doors.  In  less  time  than 
one  could  beheve  the  auditorium  was  empty.  I  heard  Madame 's 
voice  behind  me  in  staccato  exclamations.  Somebody  scratched  a 
match  and  ht  a  candle,  a  Uttle  group  of  boys  were  still  standing  at 
the  window  waiting  for  their  chocolate,  their  faces  looked  a  bit 
white  I  thought.  Then  the  Infant  put  his  head  out  the  kitchen 
door: 

*'Why,  the  lights  in  camp  are  all  on!"  he  exclaimed. 

A  boy  came  up  to  the  window.  "They're  practising  at  the 
school,"  he  told  us.  "I  heard  the  other  day  that  they  were  going 
to  pull  some  stunts  in  the  trenches  tonight." 

"So //fa/ was  it!" 

The  lights  flashed  on. 

"But  why  did  they  go  out?"  I  asked  confused.  Nobody  could 
explain  it. 

At  that  moment  'Greece  drifted  into  the  kitchen,  he  wore  a 
very  pale  and  apologetic  grin. 

"'Greece!"  I  gasped,  "Did  you—'' 

"I  turned  the  lights  off,"  he  admitted.  "I  knew  where  the 
switch  was.    I  thought  it  was  a  raid." 


THE  ENGINEERS  165 

I  glared  disgusted:  "And  a  nice  night's  work  you've  done!" 

My  friend  the  Texan  strolled  up  to  the  deserted  counter. 

*'I  met  'em  all  coming  down  the  road,"  he  remarked.  "  Gee,  but 
it  was  like  the  retreat  of  a  whole  division!" 

Today  the  boys  have  been  asking  to  tease  me:  "Where  were 
you  in  the  Great  Air-Raid? " 

"I?   Oh,  I  was  under  the  kitchen-table,"  I  reply. 

Abainville,  October  23. 

The  Chief  has  just  brought  me  great  news.  I  am  to  have  a  hut 
all  of  my  own.  I  am  to  be  head  cook,  bottle-washer,  and  grand 
high  secretary  all  in  one.  And  I  am  to  go  out  into  the  wilds  of 
France  and  start  a  new  hut  alone. 

It  seems  there  is  an  ordnance  depot  at  a  village  called  Mauvages 
about  six  miles  north  of  here.  The  camp  itself  is  small,  some  two 
hundred  men,  but  the  town  has  a  large  billeting  capacity  and 
additional  bodies  of  troops  will  be  stationed  there  from  time  to 
time.  The  C.  O.  of  the  Ammunition  Reclamation  Camp, — that 
is  its  official  title, — ^has  requested  that  a  hut  be  estabhshed  there. 
With  the  personnel  in  its  present  state  no  man  secretary,  says  the 
Chief,  can  be  spared,  but  if  I  care  to  undertake  the  job  on  my  own 
I  am  welcome  to  it.  And  if  after  two  months  or  so  of  soUtary 
confinement  "out  in  the  sticks,"  as  the  boys  say,  I  get  to  hanker- 
ing too  badly  for  the  flesh-pots  of  civilization,  why  they  will  arrange 
to  have  me  reHeved.  Need  I  say  that  I  snapped  up  the  offer  on  the 
spot?  I  had  asked  to  be  transf ered  from  Abainville  some  while  ago, 
as  the  conditions  here  have  been  none  too  congenial,  but  to  have 
a  hut  all  of  my  own  is  beyond  any  luck  that  I  had  dared  dream. 

I  would  like  to  sUng  my  old  kit  bag  over  my  shoulder,  tuck  a 
chocolate  container  under  one  arm  and  a  case  of  cigarettes  under 
the  other,  and  catch  the  first  truck  that  passes  bound  northward 
for  Mauvages.  But  it  seems  they  won't  let  me  go  until  a  New  Lady 
comes  here  to  take  my  place.  They  have  telegraphed  to  the  office 
at  Nancy.  If  the  New  Lady  doesn't  come  quick,  I  have  a  good 
mind  to  go  A.  W.  O.  L.  and  start  my  canteen  willy-nilly. 


i66  ABAINVILLE 

Meanwhile  I  am  planning  plans.  Because  of  the  grey  chill  days 
of  winter  I  am  going  to  paint  my  hut  inside  the  brightest  sunshiny 
yellow  I  can  find,  hang  it  with  orange  curtains,  and  then  in  honor 
of  the  ordnance,  christen  it  the  Pumpkin  Shell! 


CHAPTER  VI 

MAUVAGES 

THE  ORDNANCE 

Abainville,  October  26. 

I  have  been  to  Mauvages;  a  reconnoitering  expedition.  As  re- 
gards the  town  the  most  striking  feature  about  it  is  the  Egyptian 
Fountain.  A  somewhat  startHng  structure  to  come  upon  in  a  little 
French  mud-pie  village,  it  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  town  and 
consists  of  the  facade  of  a  temple  in  front  of  which  towers  an  an- 
cient God  of  the  Nile — or  so  I  take  him — ^in  dull  green  bronze, 
pouring  from  pitchers  held  in  either  hand  clear  streams  of  water 
into  a  broad  semi-circular  basin.  Behind  the  columns  is  another 
pool,  this  one  for  the  village  washerwomen:  a  cleverly  conceived 
arrangement,  for  every  passing  stranger  must  stop  to  stare  at  the 
fountain  and  this  in  turn  affords  the  washerwomen  the  opportunity 
to  stare  at  him. 

Around  two  sides  of  the  town  curves  the  canal  along  whose 
placid  surface  the  slow  barges  occasionally  pass.  They  tell  me 
that  some  very  beautiful  women  go  by  on  these  canal  boats,  but 
I  suspect  that  the  reason  that  they  seem  so  beautiful  is  just  that 
they  do  go  by — the  lure  of  the  imobtainable.  At  the  south  end 
of  the  town  the  canal  disappears  into  a  hill-side,  four  miles  to  the 
southwest  it  appears  again;  a  rather  remarkable,  and  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  in  the  most  piping  times  of  peace  the  traffic  on  the 
canal  never  exceeded  four  barges  each  way  a  day,  inexplicably  ex- 
travagant feat  of  engineering.  Every  now  and  then  a  Httle  crowd 
of  ordnance  boys  will  take  a  notion  to  walk  through  the  tunnel 
which  has  a  path  cut  at  one  side,  an  excursion  which  must  be  un- 
speakably dreary  as  the  whole  length  is  quite  unhghted  and  the  air 
damp  and  close  beyond  anything.  More  than  once  on  these  excur- 
sions a  boy  has  fallen  into  the  canal  and  had  to  be  fished  out  again. 


i68  MAUVAGES 

My  hut-to-be  is  on  the  further  edge  of  town  in  the  centre  of  a 
beautiful  open  green  field  like  a  lawn.  Just  behind  it  is  a  large 
ruined  stone  house  which  the  boys  use  as  a  background  against 
which  to  take  pictures  "at  the  front"  and  on  one  side  is  a  lovely 
tall  wayside  cross  and  a  tiny  chapel,  the  smallest  I  have  ever  seen, 
almost  hidden  in  a  little  grove  of  bushes.  The  hut  is  a  French 
recreation  barracks;  long,  low,  covered  with  black  tar  paper,  the 
windows  filled  with  grimy  cloth,  it  is  comprised  of  four  walls,  a 
roof,  a  tiny  stage  and  a  mud  floor, — a  good  mud  floor,  the  best  mud 
floor,  I  am  assured,  in  this  part  of  France. 

As  for  my  billet,  I  am  to  lodge,  it  seems,  with  Monsieur  le  Cur^. 
He  was  out  when  I  called  but  the  Major  du  Cantonment  and  Mad- 
ame the  Care-taker  settled  things  between  them.  What  Monsieur 
le  C\it6  will  say  when  he  come  home  and  discovers  that  une  demoi- 
selle Americaine  is  to  Hve  chez  lui,  I  don't  know,  but  as  Monsieur 
le  Major  himself  suggested  it,  it  must  be  in  accordance  with  the 
clerical  proprieties. 

The  Cure's  mansion  is  a  rather  stately,  gloomy  square  house 
set  back  from  the  street  with  a  rose-garden  edging  the  path  in' 
front.  My  room  has  a  Juliet  balcony  with  a  view  of  the  Egyptian 
Fountain,  the  ancient  church  and  a  scrap  of  rolling  hills  beyond. 
Breakfasts  I  have  arranged  to  take  with  Madame  the  Care-taker 
who  lives  several  doors  down  the  street,  dinners  and  suppers  I  am  to 
eat  by  courtesy  of  the  C.  O.  at  the  camp. 

When  I  returned  tonight  I  told  my  landlady  of  my  plans.  Her 
eyes  fairly  danced  with  mischievous  glee. 

"Oh  la  la!  You  and  the  Cure!"  she  cried.  "Le  didble  avec  le 
bon  Dieul  It  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  become  a  good  Catholic, 
say  your  prayers,  and  go  to  mass  every  morning.  Who  knows? 
Perhaps  you  may  end  by  becoming  a  religieuse." 

Mauvages,  November  2. 
We  are  building.   This  proves  to  be  a  painful  process,  consisting 
largely  of  discovering  what  you  can't  have  and  what  you  will  have 
to  do  without.    For  instance,  it  appears  that  there  is  not  enough 


THE  ORDNANCE  169 

lumber  to  be  had  in  France  to  furnish  me  a  complete  floor,  and  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  having  a  nice,  whole,  sweepable  floor!  French 
barracks,  one  should  note  in  passing,  are  constructed  of  sections; 
the  upper  part  of  the  walls  containing  the  window  sections  being 
vertical,  the  lower  sloping  outward  at  an  angle  of  about  thirty- 
five  degrees.  By  a  process  of  begging,  borrowing  and  salvaging — 
nobody  says  sfed  any  more  these  days, — I  have  visions  of  getting 
the  floor  in  the  centre  all  filled  in,  but  for  the  edges,  under  the 
sloping  sides,  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  hope.  But  I'm  not  going  to 
mind,  I  tell  the  boys;  I  shall  start  a  series  of  war  gardens  in  the 
little  mud-plots,  cabbages  in  number  one,  brussels  sprouts  in  num- 
ber two,  and  violets  just  for  my  own  satisfaction  in  three.  And  the 
boys  can  take  turns  hoeing  them. 

For  the  rest,  we  have  cut  a  door  in  the  side  for  general  entrance, 
the  original  one  being  reserved  for  cooks,  colonels  and  K.  P.s, 
and  across  the  front  end  opposite  the  stage  we  have  constructed 
our  store-room,  kitchen  and  canteen.  A  lattice  is  all  that  separates 
the  kitchen  from  the  counter;  this  is  so,  in  order  to  faciHtate  social 
intercourse  between  the  cook  and  the  customers,  and  also  to  enable 
the  secretary,  no  matter  if  she  is  engaged  in  stirring  the  chocolate 
or  washing  the  dishes,  to  keep  a  weather  eye  on  what  is  going  on 
outside.  But  the  triumph  of  my  hut-plan  is  the  window-seat. 
Half-way  down  the  hut  we  have  a  stove,  a  stove  which  looks  as 
big  as  an  engine-boiler,  a  stove  which  makes  the  eyes  of  all  beholders 
fairly  pop  with  admiration.  "That's  a  real  stove,"  say  the  boys. 
"That  ain't  no  frog  stove  I'll  tell  the  world!"  And  back  of  the 
stove  we  have  a  seat  three  sections  long  against  the  wall.  Wonder- 
ful to  say  that  seat  is  comfortable  and  what's  more  it  has  sofa- 
cushions.  "What  are  those  pillers  for?"  demanded  one  boy  sus- 
piciously.   "Are  they  for  the  ofiicers  to  sit  on?" 

"D'you  know  what  this  is?"  asked  a  boy  today  as  he  luxuriously 
stretched  his  length  on  the  window-seat.  "This  is  the  Lounge 
Lizard's  Roost."    So  the  Lounge  Lizard's  Roost  it  is. 

The  yellow  curtains  are  already  up  in  place.  They  give  a  rather 
stunning  effect  against  the  black  tar  paper  when  the  aeroplane 


170  MAUVAGES 

camouflage  curtains  are  let  down.  In  each  space  between  the  win- 
dows we  have  tacked  one  of  that  gorgeous  series  of  French  railway- 
posters,  so  my  hut  is  brave  with  color,  tawny  orange,  sharp  blues, 
and  shadowy  purples. 

Meanwhile  the  whole  French  populace  has  called,  singly  or  in 
crowds,  in  order  to  see  just  what  is  going  on.  As  for  the  children, 
I  am  sure  they  must  have  declared  a  school  holiday  in  honor  of  us. 
The  whole  concern  is  evidently  a  bit  puzzling  to  the  French  mind; 
but  they  have  solved  the  riddle  by  terming  the  hut  a  ^'cooperatif" 
and  so  I  let  it  rest. 

But  you  will  be  wondering  how  le  diable  is  contriving  to  live 
with  le  hon  Dieu. 

Monsieur  le  Cur^  is  quite  old.  There  is  something  stem  and 
something  tragic  in  his  face,  with  all  his  urbane  graciousness.  He 
is  a  refugee  from  the  devastated  area  and  like  myself  a  lodger  in 
the  house,  whose  owners  have  fled  this  zone  of  armies.  Monsieur 
le  Cur6  was  a  captive  for  six  months  with  the  Germans  and  the 
desolate  confinement  wrought  a  little  on  his  mind;  "At  times  he 
is  absent,"  says  Madame  the  Care-taker.  This  morning  I  stopped 
and  chatted  with  him  at  his  door  downstairs,  he  called  me  in  to 
show  me  "a  souvenir  of  his  captivity,"  a  little  dirty-white  tin 
basin  out  of  which  as  prisoner  he  ate.  "I  learned  to  smoke  then,'* 
he  told  me.  "There  was  nothing  to  do  the  whole  day  long  but  sit 
and  smoke  and  wait  for  the  clock  to  strike."  Tonight  I  am  going 
to  take  him  a  little  gift  of  American  tobacco. 

I  am  planning  a  house-warming  with  which  to  formaUy  open 
the  hut. 

Mauvages,  November  6. 
We  didn't  have  that  house-warming.  Even  as  we  were  finishing 
the  hut  all  hands  came  down  with  the  flu.  Curiously  enough  it  hit 
the  camp  all  in  a  heap  after  dinner.  Thirty  per  cent  of  the  boys, 
the  two  ofiicers,  the  building  detail  and  myself  were  all  laid  low 
between  one  and  six  o'clock.  Fortunately  it  was  the  lightest  sort 
of  an  epidemic,  a  mere  soupqon  as  it  were,  in  every  case.    I  merely 


THE  ORDNANCE  171 

retired  to  my  bed  for  a  day  and  a  haK  and  refused  to  eat.  On 
the  third  day,  which  was  yesterday,  I  crawled  back  to  the  canteen. 
It  was  a  case  of  pipe  all  hands  on  deck  and  stand  to  the  counter. 
Two  companies  of  engineers  had  arrived  in  the  night.  They  were 
back  from  an  advanced  station  just  behind  the  Unes  and  they  were 
starved  for  chocolate  and  cigarettes.  Two  months  ago  they  left 
Abainville,  green  troops,  just  over,  now  they  are  seasoned  veterans, 
in  proof  of  which  they  carry  souvenirs  salvaged  from  German  dug- 
outs. I  heard  all  about  these  souvenirs,  as  I  was  taking  break- 
fast, from  the  lips  of  an  excited  Neighbor  Woman.  From  the  list 
of  unwarlike  trophies  which  she  rattled  off  I  gleaned  umbrellas 
and  a  wall-clock;  but  the  best  was  reserved  for  me  when  I  reached 
the  canteen.  One  of  the  boys  had  met  one  of  these  same  engineers 
toiling  up  the  hill  from  the  railroad  with  a  large  upholstered  arm- 
chair on  his  back. 

"You  can't  imagine,"  he  complacently  replied  to  his  gaping 
questioners,  "how  nice  it  is,  at  the  end  of  a  hard  day's  work,  to 
be  able  to  sit  down  and  smoke  one's  pipe  in  real  comfort." 

Up  and  down  the  street  are  heaps  of  pale-green  cabbages. 
The  field  kitchens  by  the  fountain  are  busy  cooking  them.  The 
town  is  fairly  steeped  in  the  odor  of  boiling  cabbages.  These  are 
the  famous  German  cabbages  captured  in  the  Saint  Mihiel  drive, 
and  for  the  past  two  months,  the  engineers,  they  tell  me,  have  had 
them  boiled  for  dinner,  for  supper  and  for  breakfast,  until  it  seems 
that  they  hate  the  Germans  for  those  cabbages  as  much  as  they 
hate  them,  for  the  rape  of  Belgium  and  the  sinking  of  the  Lusi- 
tania. 

At  the  comer  by  the  fountain  this  noon  a  lady  stopped  to 
speak  to  me.  She  was  tall  and  white-haired  and  bore  herself  with 
gracious  dignity.  She  had  heard,  she  told  me,  that  these  men  had 
just  returned  from  Hattonchatel.  She  was  very  anxious  to  learn 
something  of  the  fate  of  a  nearby  town,  Haumont  by  the  lakes, 
where  her  aged  sister  had  Uved.  Since  the  German  invasion  four 
years  ago  she  had  heard  absolutely  no  word  of  her.  Was  the  town 
in  such  a  state  that  it  was  possible  her  sister  might  still  be  there,  or 


172  MAUVAGES 

had  the  inhabitants  been  herded  off  to  Germany?  I  questioned 
several  boys,  finally  I  found  a  lad  who  spoke  French.  Yes  he 
knew  the  town  to  which  she  referred.  He  had  often  observed  it 
from  the  height  of  a  nearby  hill, — it  had  been  daily  under  shell- 
fire.  Very  sadly,  but  with  her  gracious  sweetness  undisturbed, 
the  lady  turned  away. 

Mauvages,  November  9. 

Life  is  just  one  breathless  bustle  now-a-days.  Hardly  had 
we  got  our  minds  adjusted  to  the  engineers  when  a  whole  bat- 
taUon  of  machine-gunners  marched  into  town.  From  the  moment 
they  arrived  it  has  been  one  interminable  line  from  morning 
until  night,  demanding  the  Three  C.s, — chocolate,  cookies,  and 
cigarettes.  Luckily  my  closet  was  well  stocked  and  so  has  stood 
the  strain. 

And  speaking  of  closets,  I  have  acquired  a  skeleton  in  mine. 
It  came  about  through  a  sick  soldier,  an  accomodating  captain 
and  an  egg-nogg.  The  sick  boy  I  discovered  in  Madame  the  Care- 
taker's stable  while  breakfasting  this  morning.  He  was  very 
miserable,  Madame  told  me,  and  had  been  quite  unable  to  eat  a 
thing  for  days.  I  stopped  in  at  the  stable  and  verified  her  words. 
The  boy  looked  wretched. 

"Come  to  the  canteen  at  ten  o'clock  and  I'll  have  something 
for  you  to  eat,"  I  told  him.  Then  I  begged  a  cup  of  fresh  milk 
from  Madame. 

The  Captain  I  discovered  in  front  of  my  canteen  counter,  and 
knowing  him  to  be  a  southerner  and  a  gentleman,  I  summoned  my 
courage  and  whispered  a  petition  for  a  few  drops  of  something, 
from  the  flask  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  to  put  in  the  egg-nogg  for 
the  sick  boy.  The  Captain,  who  was  corpulent  and  dignified,  in 
some  embarrassment  replied  that  he  was  unfortunately  without 
anything  at  present,  but  that  the  lack  would  be  immediately 
suppUed.  He  disappeared,  returning  to  produce  before  my  startled 
eyes,  from  beneath  his  coat,  a  life-sized  bottle  labeled  cognac. 
Then  he  invited  himself  into  the  kitchen  to  help  make  the  tgg- 


THE  ORDNANCE  173 

nogg.  He  proved  expert.  I  quaked  fearing  the  customers  would 
snifif  the  cognac  through  the  lattice-work.  The  sick  boy  came, 
turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  Captain's  own  men.  The  Captain 
cocked  an  uns3niipathetic  eye. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Smith?"  he  questioned,  "been 
drunk  again?" 

"Captain,"  I  scolded  horrified,  "I  won't  have  any  rough  talk 
like  that  in  my  kitchen!" 

Smith  indignantly  denied  the  charge.  He  drank  his  egg-nogg 
and  left  looking  three  shades  happier. 

"Captain,"  said  I,  "did  you  ever  make  an  egg-nogg  for  one  of 
your  men  before?  " 

"Never,"  replied  the  Captain  with  decision.  He  drained  his 
own  bowl  and  took  his  departure.  "I  will  leave  the  bottle  be- 
hind," he  told  me. 

"But  I  don't  want  it!" 

"You  might  need  it  again,"  he  declared.  And  nothing  could 
induce  him  to  change  his  mind. 

That  bottle  weighs  on  my  conscience  hke  a  crime.  I  have  hid- 
den the  guilty  thing  in  a  corner  of  the  store-room  shelf  behind 
some  perfectly  innocent-looking  bundles  of  stationery  and  a  pile 
of  safety  razor  blades.  But  out  of  sight  it  continues  to  haunt  my 
mind.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  giving  sanctuary  to  the  devil.  And,  worst 
of  all,  I  have  a  vision  of  coming  into  the  hut  some  day  to  find 
that  the  bottle  has  been  discovered  and  the  whole  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is 
on  a  jag. 

Mauvages,  November  ii. 

It  isn't  true.  It  isn't  real.  It  can't  be  that  the  war  is  really 
ended. 

This  morning  I  awoke  to  the  sound  of  the  most  tremendous 
barrage  I  have  ever  heard.  At  this  distance  however  it  was  al- 
most more  like  a  sensation  than  a  sound,  a  sort  of  incessant  thrill- 
ing, throbbing  vibration. 

The  question  was  on  everybody's  lips:  "Do  you  suppose  they 
really  will  sign  the  armistice?"    "It  don't  sound  much  like  peace 


174  MAUVAGES 

this  morning!"  would  come  the  dubious  reply.  We  have  heard 
rumours  just  since  yesterday,  but  in  rumours  we  have  so  long 
ceased  to  put  any  faith!  As  the  morning  wore  on  our  skepticism 
grew.  The  almost  unbroken  reverberation  frayed  the  nerves. 
As  eleven  o'clock  drew  near  the  tension  became  torture.  Would 
the  guns  cease?  Could  they?  It  seemed  as  if  they  must  go  on 
forever.  The  clock  in  the  old  grey  church  tower  began  to  strike  the 
hour.  I  flung  open  the  kitchen  door.  We  all  stood  breathless, 
frozen,  listenmg.  Ding-dong,  ding-dong;  through  the  notes  of  the 
bell  we  could  still  hear  the  throbbing  of  the  great  guns.  Eleven 
times  the  slow  bell  chimed,  there  was  a  heavy  boom,  one  more, 
and  then  absolute  silence.  We  stared  at  each  other  blankly 
incredulous.    ''They've  signed,"  said  a  boy. 

I  walked  down  the  little  lane  that  leads  to  the  ammunition 
dump  and  picked  a  bunch  of  orange-scarlet  berries.  I  wanted  to 
be  alone,  to  Hsten.  It  was  a  day  all  pearl  and  lavender,  a  violet 
mist  hung  over  the  brown  hill-sides.  No  one  passed  on  the  road, 
there  was  not  a  sound  of  any  sort  that  reached  me,  the  world 
seemed  to  be  asleep.  The  stillness  was  terrifying.  I  waited,  tense, 
not  able  to  believe,  expecting  every  moment  to  have  the  silence 
broken  by  the  resumption  of  the  cannonade.  Then  as  the  minutes 
passed  and  still  my  strained  ears  could  not  catch  so  much  as  a 
whisper,  I  turned  back  and  entered  the  Httle  roadside  Chapel  in 
the  Bush.  There  in  its  dim  blue  and  silver  solitude  I  knelt  down 
before  the  Uttle  statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  and  prayed. 

At  noon  someone  started  the  old  church  bell  to  ringing,  it 
jangled  frantically  for  hours. 

I  think  we  are  all  a  Httle  dazed.  I  for  one  have  a  curious  feeling 
as  if  I  had  come  up  suddenly  against  a  blank  wall. 

Mauvages,  November  12. 

Last  night  we  celebrated.    The  whole  ordnance  camp  got  out 

and  set  off  flares  and  signal  rockets  from  the  dump,  while  two  of 

the  boys  put  over  a  barrage  with  the  machine-gun  on  the  hill. 

And  there  was  much  champagne.    This  morning  the  street  is  himg 


THE  ORDNANCE  175 

with  flags, — I  never  knew  before  how  thrilling  the  tricolor  could 
be  until  I  saw  it  like  this,  against  the  stone-grey  of  the  old  houses. 

A  company  of  French  cavalry  is  just  passing  through  town. 
They  are  very  beautiful  to  look  at,  with  their  bright  blue  uniforms, 
their  bright  bay  horses,  and  the  long  slim  lances  which  they  carry 
in  one  hand,  each  with  a  tiny  pennant  at  the  end.  As  each  one 
comes  into  view  down  the  street  I  think;  "Thank  God,  for  one 
more  Frenchman  left  alive." 

The  boys  have  already  begim  to  argue  about  the  date  on  which 
they  will  reach  home.  But  though  the  fighting  may  be  over,  there 
are  long  months  still  ahead  of  us  here  I  am  sure.  And  now  with 
the  strain  and  the  excitement  gone,  France  is  bound  to  look  greyer 
and  muddier  and  more  whats-the-use  to  the  boys  than  ever  before. 
May  Heaven  help  us  all ! 

Mauvages,  November  17. 

I  want  to  make  you  acquainted  with  Bill  and  Nick,  my  two 
invaluable  assistants.  Bill  is  my  official  detail  formally  assigned. 
Nick  is  a  volunteer,  his  services  a  free-will  offering  proferred  at 
such  times  as  he  is  not  required  in  his  regular  capacity  as  guardian 
of  the  bath-house. 

Bill  is  a  lame  tame  giant  six  feet  two  and  up.  He  slipped  a  cog 
in  his  knee  one  time  while  shuffling  shells  last  sxmimer  and  never 
got  quite  straightened  out  again.  Bill  is  my  salvation.  He  redeems 
what  would  otherwise  be  a  desperate  situation.  For  Bill  has  a 
Business  Brain.  If  it  weren't  for  that,  I  believe  I  should  be  driven 
to  the  mad-house  trying  to  balance  the  francs  and  centimes  at  the 
end  of  each  week.  Besides  having  a  head  for  figures.  Bill  is  an  all 
round  handy  man  with  a  turn  for  inventions.  When  I  come  back 
to  the  hut  after  a  morning  expedition  to  Gondrecourt  in  quest  of 
suppplies,  I  may  or  I  may  not  find  last  night's  dishes  washed  but 
I  am  pretty  sure  to  find  some  wonderful  new  contrivance  added  to 
my  hut  equipment.  Bill  has  made  me  a  stove-pipe  out  of  a  German 
powder  can.  Bill  has  installed  an  automatic  closing  attachment 
for  the  main  door,  which  consists  of  a  rope,  a  pulley,  a  stove  grate 


176  MAUVAGES 

and  an  excruciating  squeak;  the  chief  advantage  of  this  invention 
being  the  squeak  which  always  betrays  the  sneak  who  tries  to 
escape  undetected  in  the  middle  of  a  prayer.  Sometimes  I  think 
it  hurts  Bill's  pride  to  have  to  take  orders  from  a  lady,  especially 
one  with  such  an  unmathematical  brain  as  I.  Occasionally  he  lapses 
into  a  you're-only-a-little-girl-after-all  sort  of  attitude  and  then  I 
have  to  put  on  all  my  dignity  and  read  the  riot  act  to  him.  But 
when  I  hand  in  my  weekly  cash  sheets  at  Headquarters  and  the 
cashier  there  tells  me  that  my  accoimts  are  the  best  in  the  whole 
area,  why  Bill  could  have  the  whole  hut  and  everything  in  it. 

As  for  Nick,  if  Bill  is  right  hand  man,  why  Nick  makes  a  quite 
indispensable  left,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  poor  fellow 
is  almost  blind.  He  got  a  crack  in  the  back  of  his  head  from  the 
comer  of  a  case  of  "755,"  while  unloading  ammunition  some  two 
months  ago,  which  affected  the  optic  nerve.  And  though  the  doc- 
tor promises  a  partial  restoration  of  his  sight,  at  present  he  must 
grope  about  in  dark  glasses  and  semi-darkness.  Nick  has  a  history. 
An  orphan,  educated  for  the  priesthood,  he  ran  away  at  the  age 
of  sixteen  and  started  on  the  career  of  a  cowboy.  After  having 
broken  every  bone  in  his  body  in  the  course  of  his  broncho-busting 
he  rose  to  the  heights  of  his  profession  and  joined  Buffalo  Bill's 
Wild  West  Show.  Here  he  met  his  wife,  a  lasso  and  pistol  expert. 
While  riding  an  "outlaw"  in  Madison  Square  Garden,  he  was 
thrown  and  had  one  of  his  legs  badly  smashed,  which  forced  him 
to  retire  from  public  life.  After  this  he  spent  a  couple  of  years  as  a 
bar-tender  in  New  York.  In  his  spare  moments,  aided  by  his 
ecclesiastical  Latin,  he  learned  practical  chemistry  from  an  old 
German  druggist  who  kept  shop  next  door.  Now  in  his  civilian 
capacity  Nick  is  consulting  chemist  for  a  Brooklyn  laundry  con- 
cern, while  his  wife  conducts  successfully  a  French  millinery  store 
in  Flatbush.    So  much  for  romance! 

Nick  is,  I  am  quite  sure,  the  politest  Irishman  in  France.  More- 
over he  is  the  darling  of  the  feminine  portion  of  the  town.  Partly 
by  reason  of  his  blindness,  which  appeals  to  the  quick  sympathies 
of  the  Frenchwomen,  and  partly  because  of  his  unvarying  courtesy, 


THE  ORDNANCE  177 

his  kindliness  and  his  quaint  humour,  he  is  the  most  sought-after 
man  in  Mauvages.  He  knows,  I  should  judge,  some  six  words  of 
French,  but  with  these  he  manages  to  "get  by."  And  he  is  forever 
being  invited  out  to  supper. 

Every  morning  between  sweeping  up  and  washing  the  dishes 
and  waiting  on  the  counter  we  hold  a  coffee  party  in  the  kitchen; 
Bill  and  Nick  and  myself  and  whoever  else  happens  to  be  around. 
The  party  consists  of  coffee  with  plenty  of  sugar  and  canned  milk', — 
always  a  treat  in  the  army  as  in  the  messes  you  must  drink  it  plain; — ^ 
and  K.  P.  cookies.  Now  K.  P.  cookies,  you  must  understand,  are 
cookies  from  the  end  of  the  package  that  the  mouse  didn't  eat.  As  ] 
there  is  considerable  activity  on  the  part  of  the  mice  these  days 
there  are  any  number  of  K.  P.  cookies.  And  yet  I  have  done 
my  best.  Pricked  on  by  conscience  I  said  to  Nick  day  before  yester- 
day, "Nick  do  you  suppose  you  could  get  me  a  trap?" 

"Certainly  Ma'am,  I'll  buy  one  at  the  store." 

"But  wait  a  minute,  do  you  know  the  word  for  mouse-trap?*' 

"Don't  worry.  That's  not  in  the  least  necessary."  And  he  set 
out  for  the  General  Store  Articles  Militaire  down  the  street. 

But  for  once  his  sign  language  failed  him.  He  was  offered  every- 
thing in  the  store  from  a  screw-driver  to  an  egg-beater  and  only 
achieved  the  trap  finally  by  stumbling  over  one  on  the  floor.  It 
was  a  French  trap  to  be  baited  with  flour  and  sewed  up  with  thread; 
I  looked  at  it  skeptically,  but  the  next  morning  we  had  caught  a 
mouse.    However  today  it  was  K.  P.  cookies  as  usual. 

"Bill,"  I  said,  "you'll  have  to  borrow  Iodine."  Iodine  is  the 
Medical  Sergeant's  cat. 

"Aw  shucks,"  says  Bill,  "Iodine  is  a  frog  cat.  She  wouldn't 
look  at  a  mouse  unless  you  served  it  to  her  on  a  platter  dressed  with 
garlic." 

Bill  says  no  home  is  complete  without  a  dog.  I  quite  agree  with 
him.  Only,  I  say,  we  must  catch  him  young  so  we  can  bring  him 
up  in  the  way  he  should  go.  These  French  dogs  for  the  most  part 
seem  to  have  neither  manners  nor  morals.  So  Bill  is  keeping  an 
eye  out  for  a  likely  puppy. 


178  MAUVAGES 

"But,"  he  said,  "when  we  close  up  here,  the  only  way  we'll  be 
able  to  settle  it  between  us  will  be  to  make  him  into  sausages." 

If  we  ever  do  get  a  dog  I  think  I  shall  call  him  "Tin  Hat"  just 
because  every  other  dog  in  the  A.  E.  F.  is  named  "Cognac." 

Mauvages,  November  20. 

Our  relations  to  the  French  populace  are  enough  to  try  a  dip- 
lomat. Hardly  a  day  passes  in  the  hut  but  what  some  delicate 
social  or  ethical  problem  arises. 

First,  there  is  Louis,  a  most  disreputable  old  scamp  if  there 
ever  was  one.  He  keeps  the  cafe  across  the  street  and  so  is  my 
deadly  rival.  The  other  day  the  old  rascal  appeared  at  my  counter 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  and  demanded  '^bonbons  pour  le  rheum,^' 
producing,  in  witness  of  his  urgent  need,  a  feeble  and  patently 
artificial  cough.  When  I  answered  that  unfortunately  we  had 
none,  he  instantly  substituted  chocolate  in  his  request.  Unable  to 
resist  the  rapscallion's  grin  I  gave  him  a  handful,  whereat  in  beam- 
ing gratitude  he  immediately  invited  me  over  to  the  cafe  to  have 
a  glass  of  wine  at  his  expense.  And  when  I  hastily  informed 
him  that  I  didn't  care  for  wine  he  genially  amended  the  invitation 
so  that  it  stood,  "glass  of  beer."  And  now  I  am  told  by  the  boys 
that  he  has  announced  that  I,  forsooth,  am  his  "fiancee!" 

But  chiefly  there  is  Rebecca.  We  call  her  Rebecca  because 
when  Bill  goes  to  the  well  to  get  a  pail  of  water  he  usually  happens 
to  meet  her  there.  Rebecca  is  thin  and  dark  and  lively.  Her 
English  vocabulary  includes  such  phrases  as  "beeg  steef"  and 
"Mek  eet  snappee!"  She  is,  as  the  boys  put  it,  "full  of  pep." 
Rebecca  has  a  Httle  black  and  villainous-looking  husband  who 
occasionally  appears  in  town  from  the  trenches,  but  for  the  most 
part  she  is  free  to  follow  where  her  fancy  leads.  If  it  should 
ever  lead  her  to  confession  I  am  afraid  she  would  make  the  old 
Cure's  eyebrows  curl. 

Bill's  acquaintance  with  Rebecca  is  entirely  on  business  Unes 
he  wants  me  to  understand.  She  does  his  laundry  for  him.  "It's 
all  very  well,"  I  say, "  to  take  her  your  washing,  but  why  must  you 


THE  ORDNANCE  179 

take  her  chocolates?"  He  knows  I  disapprove.  When  he  lingers 
too  long  on  the  water  detail  I  eye  him  severely  on  his  return. 

"Bill,  have  you  been  hobnobbing  with  Rebecca?" 

Bill  grins  admission. 

Rebecca  lives  in  a  white  little  one  story  door-and-window 
house  just  around  the  comer  on  the  Rue  d'Eglise  which  I  must  pass 
going  to  my  canteen.  And  Rebecca  keeps  tab  on  the  precise  hour 
and  minute  at  which  I  return  to  my  billet  under  Bill's  escort  every 
night.  Going  home  one  stormy  night  I  took  Bill's  arm.  The 
next  day  Bill  informed  me  that  Rebecca  had  advised  him  that  such 
conduct,  according  to  French  notions,  was  not  quite  comme  il  fauL 

Bill,  I  find,  is  able  to  make  an  astonishing  amount  of  conver- 
sation with  his  "nigger  French"  that  takes  absolutely  no  account 
of  moods,  tenses,  conjugations,  declinations  or  any  of  the  other 
stuff  in  grammar  books.  And  I  am  afraid  he  understands  a  great 
deal  that  it  would  be  just  as  well  he  didn't. 

"How  did  you  learn  it  all?"  I  asked  him. 

He  looked  at  me  side-wise.  "Rebecca  gave  me  lessons,"  he 
answered  grinning. 

Last  night,  as  we  passed  Rebecca's  house,  I  noticed  that  her 
door  was  the  least  bit  ajar. 

As  Bill  left  me  at  my  gate  I  admonished  him;  "Now  don't  you 
stop  to  say  good-night  to  Rebecca." 

"Gosh,  no!"  said  Bill,  "if  I  did  I'm  afraid  I  might  have  to 
hurry  or  I'd  be  late  for  breakfast." 

Whenever  I  meet  Rebecca  on  the  street  she  always  bows  to 
me  most  urbanely. 

Nor  is  Rebecca  all  my  concern  in  relation  to  Big  Bill.  There 
is  also  the  pretty  girl  who  lives  down  the  street  who  undoubt- 
edly would  not  be  averse  to  accompanying  him  to  America.  Bill 
stops  at  her  house  every  night  in  order  to  get  a  quart  of  fresh  milk 
for  the  C.  O.'s  breakfast.  I  bid  him  be  wary  of  these  Franco- 
American  alliances,  citing  horrible  examples  I  have  known,  such 
as  the  machine-gunner,  for  instance,  who,  in  order  to  be  in  harmony 
with  his  future  family-in-law,  felt  it  incumbent  on  him  to  appear 


i8o  MAUVAGES 

at  his  wedding  wearing  a  pair  of  wooden  shoes;  and  of  the  dough- 
boy who  married  a  widow  with  two  children,  and,  since  he  knew  no 
French  and  she  no  English,  persuaded  his  company  commander  to 
detail  an  interpreter  to  live  in  the  house  with  them  for  the  first 
three  days  after  their  marriage. 

Not  many  days  ago  a  girl  came  to  my  kitchen  door  in  company 
with  a  soldier.  She  had  a  United  States  paymaster's  cheque  which 
she  wished  to  have  cashed.  Afterwards  I  questioned  Bill.  It 
seems  a  lieutenant  had  married  and  afterwards  divorced  her.  She 
was  still  drawing  his  allotment.  She  looked  so  thoroughly  the 
peasant,  bare-headed,  in  a  shawl  and  shoddy  skirt,  with  nothing 
to  particularly  distinguish  her  pretty  but  inexpressive  face,  that 
I  voiced  my  wonder  to  the  boys. 

"Oh  but  you  ought  to  see  her  when  she  gets  dressed  up!"  they 
said. 

"Fine  feathers  don't  make  fine  birds,"  I  remind  severely.  "Bill, 
be  warned!" 

"Yes,  but  there's  Gaby,"  Bill  suggests.  "What  about  her?" 
Now  Gaby  is  the  Httle  chauffeuse  who  has  been  driver  for  a 
French  general  three  years  and  who  turns  up  periodically  in  town. 
She  is  quaint  as  a  wood-cut  and  solemn  as  an  owl,  with  her  shock 
of  bobbed  hair  and  her  great  staring  child-hke  eyes.  She  sits 
at  the  mess  table  and  never  says  a  word  but  draws  your  glance 
irresistibly.  Always  she  wears  an  odd  little  straight-cut  dress 
hanging  just  below  her  knees  and  a  croix  de  guerre  pinned  to  her 
breast.  Gaby  killed  a  man  with  her  car  not  long  since  and  was 
held  a  prisoner  at  Ligny-en-Barrois  for  ten  days  in  consequence. 
Gaby  and  one  of  the  sergeants  at  the  A.  R.  are  undergoing  all 
the  woe  and  wonder  of  love's  young  dream. 

"Oh  well,"  I  say,  ''Gaby  is  different." 

This  afternoon  Rebecca  appeared  at  the  canteen  and  asked 
for  Bill.  She  was  so  elegantly  attired  that  at  first  I  didn't  know 
her.  After  a  parley  at  the  door.  Bill,  with  an  odd  expression 
on  his  face,  takes  his  second-best  raincoat  from  the  peg  and  hands 
it  to  her.    I  looked  my  inquiries.    An  old  doughboy  sweetheart  of 


THE  ORDNANCE  i8i 

the  lady's,  it  appears,  had  returned  on  leave  and  they  were  going 
travelling  together. 

''Going  off  on  a  honey-moon  with  another  feller,  in  my  rain- 
coat!   Gosh,  it's  a  cruel  war!"  grinned  Bill. 

Mauvages,  November  24. 
Now  that  the  time  is  drawing  on  toward  Christmas  the  boys, — 
bless  them! — ^are  all  wanting  to  send  some  remembrance  to  mothers, 
sisters,  wives  and  sweethearts  at  home.  But  what  to  send  has  been 
the  desperate  question.  One  sort  of  goods  and  one  only  is  offered 
for  such  purposes  by  the  French  stores  in  this  locality,  a  line  of 
flimsy  silk  stuff,  handkerchiefs,  scarfs  and  little  aprons,  machine- 
embroidered  with  gay  flowers  and  each  bearing  the  legend  ''Sou- 
venir de  France."  They  are  fragile  slazy  things,  absurdly  high- 
priced,  inappropriate  and  often  hideous.  But  to  the  boys  they  are 
altogether  beautiful.  After  many  requests  and  inquiries  I  gave  in. 
I  went  to  Gondrecourt  and  purchased  what  I  could  find  that  was 
the  least  tawdry,  the  least  exorbitant.  I  brought  them  to  the  can- 
teen; they  proved  so  popular  that  three  days  afterward  I  had  to 
make  another  trip  to  town  to  buy  some  more.  Now  we  carry  a 
regular  stock  of  fancy  silk  handkerchiefs  and  aprons  in  addition 
to  the  chewing  tobacco  and  cigarettes.  But  here  one  is  faced  with 
a  delicate  problem.  Each  handkerchief  is  embroidered  with  some 
such  specific  legend  as  To  my  Sweetheart,  To  My  Dear  Wife,  To 
my  Darling  Daughter, — ^I  refused  to  consider  the  bit  of  lacy  frippery 
marked  To  my  Dear  Son! — and  this  complicates  matters  immensely 
I  find.  Somehow  we  always  manage  to  have  a  supply  of  Sweet- 
hearts on  hand  when  a  man  is  in  quest  of  a  Dear  Wife  and  vice 
versa.  In  vain  I  artfully  suggest  that  it  would  be  a  pretty  compli- 
ment to  call  one's  wife  "Dear  Sweetheart,"  to  their  minds  there 
seems  to  be  something  essentially  compromising  in  such  a  notion. 
Occasionally  the  reverse  will  work  however,  and  a  boy,  grinning 
and  abashed,  will  select  a  handkerchief  marked  "Dear  Wife"  to 
send  to  his  sweetheart.  Sometimes  during  these  sales  one's  faith 
in  the  single  heartedness  of  Young  America  receives  a  shock,  as 


l82  MAXATAGES 

when  an  innocent-looking  lad  will  blandly  select  half  a  dozen  "Dear 
Sweethearts"  and  put  each  in  a  separate  envelope  to  send  to  a  dif- 
ferent girl! 

Speaking  of  souvenirs,  there  is  a  boy  who  acts  as  fireman  on  the 
dinky  little  engine  that  pulls  the  work-train  on  the  narrow-gauge 
between  Mauvages  and  Sauvoy.  He  belongs  to  a  regiment  of 
engineers  who  served  with  the  British  in  Flanders  for  some  eight 
months.  While  there  he  dug  up  enough  dead  Germans, — "You 
could  always  tell  where  they  were  buried  because  the  grass  grew  so 
much  greener  there,"  he  explained, — and  picked  enough  gold  fillings 
out  of  their  teeth,  to  make  a  whole  match  box  fuU.  He  was  going 
to  take  it  home  and  have  a  dentist  put  the  gold  in  his  teeth  "for 
a  souvenir,"  but  unluckily  in  the  spring  drive  he  lost  all  his  possess- 
ions and  the  match  box  with  them.  Now  this,  as  Kipling  would 
say,  is  a  true  story. 

Mauvages,  November  30. 

Let  me  recount  to  you  the  gentle  tale  of  the  German  prisoners 
and  the  Thanksgiving  movies,  an  incident  which  I  consider  a  sort 
of  sermon  in  a  nutshell  and  a  Warning  to  the  Nations. 

Unluckily  there  is  in  this  division  a  secretary  who  is  a  senti- 
mentalist. He  has  an  idea  that  an  important  part  of  his  object 
in  France  is  "to  enliven  the  long  evenings  of  the  French  villagers," 
and  particularly  does  he  consider  it  his  Christian  duty  to  do  some- 
thing to  demonstrate  how  much  we  love  the  poor  German  prisoners, 
those  gentlemen  who  wear  the  big  P.  G.  for  Prisonnier  de  Guerre  on 
their  backs  and  "ought,"  as  the  boys  say,  "to  have  an  I  in  the 
middle."  There  are  several  hundred  of  them  in  a  camp  at  Gondre- 
court  and  they  are,  it  is  said,  just  as  well  housed  and  fed  as  our 
boys,  and  not  made  to  work  nearly  as  hard. 

Now,  as  there  was  no  other  sort  of  entertainment  available,  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  having  movies  in  my  hut  on  Thanksgiving. 
I  had  presented  my  request  at  the  Headquarters  office  and  under- 
stood the  matter  settled.  But  the  Sentimental  Secretary  it  seems 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  the  poor  dear  German  prisoners  must 
have  a  treat  and,  other  schemes  falling  through,  he  also  put  in  a 


THE  ORDNANCE  183 

request  for  the  movies.  There  was  only  one  portable  machine 
in  working  order.  Through  some  misunderstanding  or  something 
in  the  oflSce,  the  P.  G.s  got  the  movies.  To  enlarge  upon  my  senti- 
ments when  the  news  was  broken  to  me  Thursday  morning  or  to 
record  the  opinions  expressed  by  the  boys  in  regard  to  the  matter, 
is  not  to  the  purpose  of  this  tale. 

Failing  our  show,  all  that  I  could  manage  in  the  way  of  celebra- 
tion was  a  little  box  of  nuts  and  raisins  tied  up  with  a  bit  of  red, 
white  and  blue  ribbon  for  every  man  in  camp.  The  mess  sergeant, 
however,  outdid  himself.  Our  Thanksgiving  dinner  was  nothing 
less  than  a  feast.  For  days  the  A.  R.  jitney  had  been  scouring 
the  country  for  poultry.  At  last  the  sergeant  had  succeeded  in 
getting  enough  for  all.  He  did  this  by  assembling  specimens  of  the 
whole  feathered  tribe;  turkey,  duck,  chicken  and  goose.  And  I 
had  a  slice  of  each.  But  for  all  that  I  didn't  enjoy  that  dinner 
worth  six-pence.  Those  movies  were  on  my  mind.  I  tried  to  think 
of  the  touching  gratitude  of  the  German  prisoners.  Perhaps  after 
all  if  one  should  pursue  them  with  delicate  attentions  it  might  lead 
them  to  see  the  error  of  their  ways.  Perhaps  giving  them  a  movie 
show  would  inculcate,  by  example,  a  beautiful  lesson  of  Christian 
charity  and  forgiveness.  Who  could  tell  what  uplifting  moral 
influence  CharHe  Chaplin  or  Mutt  and  Jeff  might  exert? 

Last  night  was  our  regular  movie-night.  In  the  midst  of  pre- 
paring for  the  show,  Georges,  the  French  operator,  who  was  getting 
the  machine  ready,  Georges  the  little  dandy,  always  nonchalant 
and  blase,  came  charging  back  to  the  counter,  his  eyes  as  big  as 
arc-lights.  He  thrust  his  hands,  which  were  full  of  cartridges, 
beneath  my  nose,  fairly  dancing  on  tip-toe  in  his  excitement.  He 
had  found  them  in  the  carbide;  when  the  carbide  had  gotten  hot, 
*'P(7o//"  he  dramatized  the  wrecking  of  the  hut  with  explosive 
gestures.  ^'C'estles  Boches!  Les  cochons!"  Never  again  would  he 
take  his  machine  there,  never,  never! 

As  the  machine  had  been  left  at  the  German  Prison  Camp  after 
the  Thanksgiving  show  and  then  brought  directly  from  there  to 
Mauvages  there  seems  httle  room  for  doubt  that  the  prisoners 


i84  MAUVAGES 

had  placed  the  shells  there.  Of  course,  if  there  were  any  poetic 
justice  in  things,  the  Sentimental  Secretary  himself  would  have 
been  blown  up  by  the  Germans'  cartridges,  but  unfortunately  in 
real  life  things  don't  happen  that  way. 

Mauvages,  December  3. 
The  French  Army  is  in  possession  of  Mauvages.  A  regiment 
of  artillery  moved  in  on  us  yesterday  afternoon.  There  seemed 
a  never-ending  line  of  them  as  they  crawled  into  town,  the  horses 
just  barely  able  to  drag  the  heavy  pieces.  There  must  have  been 
a  shocking  shortage  of  fodder  in  the  French  Army;  the  poor 
beasts  look  wretched  beyond  words.  The  big  guns  are  lined  up 
all  along  the  street.  They  look  like  great  spotted  lizards  in  their 
green  and  brown  and  yellow  coats  of  camouflage.  Each  piece 
has  a  girl's  name  carved  on  the  muzzle.  The  one  in  front  of  my 
canteen  is  Marthe,  further  up  the  street  stand  Lucile  and  Marie. 
We  watched  them  as  they  brought  the  guns  into  place,  unhitched 
the  teams  and  made  their  preparations  to  settle  down  and  stay. 
Once  settled,  our  perplexities  began.  Immediately  they  started  to 
trickle  into  the  canteen  in  search  of  cigarettes.  To  the  first  comers 
in  a  weak  moment  I  slipped  a  few  packages.  That  was  enough. 
Thereafter  it  was  just  like  flies  to  the  molasses  jar,  and  then  of 
course  I  had  to  harden  my  heart  and  say  no.  But  they  wouldn't 
take  no  for  an  answer.  They  begged,  pleaded  and  cajoled.  I 
posted  a  polite  sign  at  the  end  of  the  counter  explaining  how  the 
canteen  supplies  had  been  brought  into  France  without  payment  of 
any  duty,  under  the  strict  agreement  with  the  French  Govern- 
ment that  they  would  be  sold  only  to  Americans.  But  they  re- 
fused to  read  the  sign.  One  handsome  brigadier  stopped  me  on 
the  street  in  order  to  present  his  petition.  And  at  the  canteen 
a  httle  poilu  with  a  round  cherubic  face,  after  being  refused 
some  nine  or  ten  times  over  at  the  counter,  followed  me  out  into 
the  kitchen  to  urge  his  piteous  plea.  It  was  dreadful,  it  was 
harrowing.  I  have  never  felt  quite  so  mean  about  anything  in  all 
my  life. 


THE  ORDNANCE  185 

In  the  evening  we  had  billed  a  stereoptican  lecture  on  London. 
Forseeing  that  the  poilus  would  form  a  large  proportion  of  the 
audience,  I  tried  to  get  an  interpreter  to  explain  the  pictures  in 
French  to  them  but  at  the  last  minute  the  interpreter  failed  me. 
Nothwithstanding,  the  Frenchmen  remained  courteously  quiet  while 
the  lecture  lasted.  But  once  it  was  finished  the  atmosphere  of  the 
hut  underwent  a  change.  The  bluecoated  figures  who  were  swarm- 
ing into  the  canteen  now  had  evidently  spent  the  earlier  part  of  the 
evening  in  the  cafes.  I  went  out  into  the  centre  of  the  hut  to  see 
what  was  going  on;  all  about  me  stretched  a  swarm  of  poilus  in  a 
genial  mood.  The  door  squeaked  open,  a  little  soldier  came  skip- 
ping into  the  hut.  To  my  horror  I  saw  he  carried  in  one  hand  a  tall 
tumbler  and  in  the  other  a  large  bottle  of  Benedictine.  The  victrola 
was  jigging  out  a  rag  on  the  counter.  Posing  for  a  minute  in  an  atti- 
tude reminiscent  of  the  great  Isadora,  the  little  poilu  proceeded  to 
dance  in  time  to  the  music,  pirouetting  on  one  toe  as  he  waved  the 
bottle  and  the  tumbler  above  his  head  with  Bacchanahan  gestures. 
Then  suddenly  he  sat  down  at  one  of  the  tables  and  started  to  pour 
himself  a  glass.  I  swooped  down  upon  him.  It  was  dejendu  I  ex- 
plained, strictly  and  absolutely  dejendu  to  drink  in  this  hut.  He 
stared  incredulous.  I  reiterated  with  emphasis.  Finally  he  nodded 
sulkily  and,  slipping  the  bottle  underneath  his  arm,  turned  away. 
Two  minutes  later  I  caught  him  offering  a  red-nosed  friend  a  drink 
square  in  front  of  my  counter.  I  flew  to  the  attack  again.  I  told 
him  it  was  against  the  rules  to  so  much  as  hring  wine  into  the  hut. 
He  held  his  ground  defiantly.  I  wanted  to  take  the  little  wretch 
by  his  coat  collar  and  march  him  out  the  door;  I  felt  I  could  have 
done  it.  Instead  I  plead,  expostulated  and  commanded.  A  score 
of  grinning  poilus  crowded  about  us:  it  was  evidently  as  good  as  a 
show  to  them.  I  entreated  the  little  poilu  please,  please  to  carry 
the  bottle  out  of  the  hut!  ''Dehors!  Dehors!  Outside!"  they 
chorused  gleefully.  I  exhausted  my  vocabulary,  apparently  with- 
out effect.  The  little  poilu  wasn't  used  to  taking  orders  from  a 
girl,  especially  one  who  spoke  French  so  badly,  but  finally  I  won. 
"Bon!^^  he  snapped  exolosively,  turned  on  his  heel  and  marched 


i86  MAUVAGES 

out.  I  fled  precipitately  to  the  kitchen  and  stayed  there  until  clos- 
ing time.    I  didn't  feel  equal  to  coping  with  any  more  tipsy  poilus. 

It's  curious  how  the  whole  character  of  a  dwelling-place  can 
change.  When  the  priest  and  the  cat  and  I  are  keeping  house 
together,  the  old  mansion  is  the  dimmest,  most  decorous  place 
imaginable.  At  night  I  let  myself  in  the  dark  front  door,  locking 
it  carefully  behind  me, — Monsieur  scolded  me  for  leaving  it  un- 
locked once;  I  had  left  him,  he  said,  at  the  mercy  of  the  passersby! 
— then  grope  my  way  down  the  cold  unlighted  hall  and  up  the 
steep  stairs  to  my  chilly  room  and  to  bed  by  one  flickering  candle's 
light.  The  place  is  as  silent  and  lifeless  as  a  tomb.  Then  new 
troops  come  into  town  and  suddenly  everything  is  changed.  The 
lower  floor  is  taken  over  for  an  officers'  mess  and  often  too,  for 
Headquarters.  Savory  odors  of  cooking,  warm  smells  mount  up 
the  dim  stairway,  candles  gutter  in  niches  in  the  pasage-ways, 
smart-looking  officers  in  khaki  or  horizon-blue  as  the  case  may  be, 
meet  and  salute  one  in  the  hall.  The  tramp  of  booted  feet,  the 
ring  of  spurs,  the  clink  of  glasses,  laughter,  song,  the  piano  played 
tumultuously  sometimes  late  into  the  night, — everything  from 
Madelon  to  Mozart — and  most  startling,  and  incredible  of  all, 
the  jangle  of  a  telephone  bell,  installed  for  the  occasion;  for  a 
few  days  we  live  in  a  strange  bustling  vivid  world,  then  on  they 
move  and  we  are  left  again  to  our  silence  and  solitude. 

Tonight  as  I  was  washing  up  for  supper  I  was  startled  by  a 
rap  on  my  door.  There  stood  Monsieur  le  Cur^  and  a  French 
officer.  I  had  a  bad  moment  wondering  what  the  cause  of  such  a 
visitation  might  be.  Was  he  going  to  turn  me  out  of  my  billet 
perhaps?  Or  was  he  going  to  complain  about  the  treatment  his 
men  had  received  in  the  Y.  ?  Monsieur  le  Cur^  was  ambling  through 
a  long  and  elaborate  peroration.  At  first  I  could  make  no  sense 
out  of  it,  then  suddenly  I  caught  on.  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  was  a 
stamp  collector.  He  wanted  to  know  if  I  perhaps  had  some  stamps 
des  Etats-Unis  which  I  could  spare  him! 

Reports  have  come  in  tonight  of  friction  between  the  French 
and  American  soldiers  in  town,  resulting  in  a  number  of  scrim- 


THE  ORDNANCE  187 

mages.  The  whole  trouble  springs,  I  gather,  from  the  eternal 
feminine  and  the  native  jealousy  of  the  male;  the  Fair  Sex  of 
Mauvages  having  made  quite  evident  to  the  poilus  their  decided 
preference  for  the  doughboys. 

Mauvages,  December  6. 

The  theatrical  season  at  Mauvages  has  been  inaugurated.  The 
carpenters  were  busy  in  the  hut  all  day  yesterday,  hammering  and 
sawing,  making  us  a  roll  curtain  out  of  roofing  paper,  manufactur- 
ing foot-lights  from  commissary  candles  and  tin  reflectors  cut  from 
the  lining  of  tobacco  cases.  When  the  stage  was  done  it  was  very 
gay.  We  had  a  red  curtain  across  the  back,  bright  yellow  wings, 
red  and  yellow  draperies  around  the  proscenium  arch,  festoons  of 
little  flags  strung  across  the  top,  and  a  large  American  flag  draped 
centre  back.  It  wasn't  what  we  wanted,  it  was  just  what,  by  hook 
or  crook  we  could  get,  and  the  effect  really  wasn't  half  as  bad  as  it 
sounds. 

The  programme  might  be  classed  in  two  parts,  rehearsed  and 
impromptu.  For  a  starter  we  dropped  a  tear  over  Baby's  Prayer, 
that  bit  of  ninety-nine  one-hundredths  pure  sentimentality,  with- 
out which  no  programme  in  the  A.  E.  F,  is  complete  these  days; 
after  which  we  were  adjured  to  "Pray  for  sunshine,  But  always 
be  prepared  for  rain," — a  quite  superfluous  admonition  in  this  part 
of  France  at  this  season  of  the  year! 

"Put  all  your  pennies  on  the  shelf. 
The  almighty  dollar  will  take  care  of  itself." 
"Humph!"  grunted  the  boy  next  me,  "I'll  bet  it  was  a  Jew  wrote 
that." 

Following  the  songs  we  heard  Barney,  the  Poet  Laureate  of  the 
Camp,  celebrate  the  deeds  of  the  ordnance  detachment  in  verse. 
At  least  we  supposed  that  was  what  it  was,  for  Barney  has  a  brogue 
all  his  own  and  if  you  get  one  word  in  ten  you're  lucky.  As  the  C.  O. 
says,  it  is  much  easier  to  "compree^'  a  Frenchman  than  it  is  to 
understand  Barney. 

After  Barney  we  had  a  sermon,  a  burlesque  darky  sermon 


i88  MAUVAGES 

> 

preached  by  a  black-face  comedian.  As  luck  would  have  it,  two 
real  darkies  from  a  labor  camp  up  the  line  slipped  in  at  the  back 
of  the  hut  just  as  the  preacher  began.  They  took  it  all  in  deadly 
earnest,  and  warmed,  I  suspect,  by  a  glass  at  the  corner  cafe,  they 
presently  began  to  respond  to  the  preacher's  exhortations  with 
genuine  religious  fervor. 

"Dat'sso!    You  tell 'em  bruder!   Hallelujah!    Bless  de  Lord!" 

The  audience  up  front,  hearing  a  commotion  and  unluckily  not 
catching  the  comedy,  hissed  indignantly  and  the  darkies,  abashed, 
slunk  out. 

Of  course  at  the  last  moment  some  of  our  headliners  failed  to 
come  across.  The  mumps  claimed  our  dramatic  reader  and  our 
buck-and-wing  dancer  sent  word,  just  as  the  curtain  was  going  up, 
that  in  all  the  camp,  no  shoes  outside  of  hob-nails,  large  enough 
for  him  could  be  found.  But  we  made  up  for  these  defections  by 
our  impromptu  acts.  The  most  surprising  of  these  was  the  Little 
Fat  Poilu.  He  popped  up  suddenly  from  Heaven  knows  where,  a 
roimd  rosy  dimipling  of  a  man  with  a  shiny  nose  and  a  fat  black 
beard,  and  offered  his  services.  On  his  first  appearance  he  played 
the  violin  with  vim  and  spirit.  Then  in  answer  to  the  applause  he 
dropped  his  violin,  seized  the  tall  hat  from  the  head  of  the  darky 
preacher,  clapped  it  on  his  own,  and  bounced  back  onto  the  stage. 
The  transformation  was  amazing.  In  an  instant,  instead  of  a 
poilu  he  had  become  a  jolly  little  bourgeois  shopkeeper  out  for 
a  stroll  on  the  boulevard.  He  proceeded  to  sing  a  comic  song,  a 
song  with  an  interminable  number  of  verses,  unquestionably  very 
funny  and  in  all  probability  quite  scandalous.  The  French  portion 
of  the  audience  was  charmed,  they  joined  vociferously  in  the  jiggy 
choruses,  and  when  he  had  done  they  insisted  on  another  and  an- 
other. For  a  while  it  looked  as  if  France  was  going  to  run  away 
with  the  programme,  but  finally  the  little  poilu  came  to  the  end 
of  his  repertoire, — or  of  his  breath  maybe,  and  America  once  more 
took  the  stage. 

Today  we  are  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  theatrical  enterprise. 
Already  there  are  three  or  four  "bigger  and  better"  rival  shows  in 


THE  ORDNANCE  189 

process  of  incubation.  What^s  more,  Barney  is  writing  a  play.  He 
sits  at  one  of  the  canteen  tables  surrounded  by  a  group  of  admiring 
would-be  actors  and  each  sheet,  as  he  finishes  it,  is  gravely  handed 
around  the  crowd.  So  far  it  seems  to  contain  just  three  characters; 
Rose  the  beautiful  stenographer,  the  villain  landlord  and  the  office 
boy.  I  am  waiting  in  suspense  to  see  whether  Barney's  master- 
piece is  going  to  turn  out  a  melodrama,  a  problem  play  or  a 
dramatic  treatise  on  the  social  and  political  wrongs  of  Ireland. 

The  French  troops  are  moving  tomorrow.  Tonight  the  Little 
Fat  Poilu  came  to  bid  us  good-bye.  When  no  one  was  looking  I 
filled  his  pockets  up  with  cigarettes. 

Mauvages,  December  9. 

A  very  regrettable  incident  occured  last  night.  The  day  being 
Sunday  we  were  due  for  a  religious  service  at  seven-fifteen.  At 
seven-ten  the  Reverend  Gentleman,  who  was  to  instruct  my  flock 
in  the  way  wherein  they  should  go,  arrived  in  company  with  the 
Business  Manager  from  Gondrecourt.  Now  it  happened  that  the 
Reverend  Gentleman  on  this  occasion  was  none  other  than  my 
friend  the  Sentimental  Secretary.  He  surveyed  the  congregation; 
there  were  nine  boys  in  the  hut.  He  sat  down  and  waited  for  the 
audience  to  arrive.  But  the  audience  didn't.  Instead  one  wretch 
surreptitiously  sneaked  out  the  door.  At  last  I  felt  it  necessary 
to  come  forward  with  apologies  and  explanations;  my  flock  at 
present  was  small  to  start  with,  the  sheep  had  all  gone  to  Domremy 
on  an  excursion,  the  goats  were  deep  in  an  after-pay-day  poker  game. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  hold  the  meeting?"  the  R.  G.  questioned 
grimly. 

"If  you  will." 

The  Reverend  Gentleman,  a  bit  tight  about  the  lips,  laid  on. 
It  was  a  cold  night;  we  gathered  by  the  fire.  I  tried  to  make  myself 
look  as  large  as  possible,  but  stretch  the  congregation  as  you  might, 
we  only  reached  two-thirds  of  the  way  around  the  stove. 

"Well,"  said  the  Business  Manager  when  it  was  all  over  with, 
"how  soon  will  you  be  ready  to  close  out  this  hut?" 


iQo  MAUVAGES 

I  reminded  him  that  after  all  it  would  have  only  taken  ten  right- 
eous to  save  Sodom,  so  might  not  eight  save  Mauvages? 

Of  course  just  as  soon  as  the  Reverend  Gentleman  and  the  Busi- 
ness Manager  had  shaken  our  dust  ofif  their  feet  and  disappeared, 
a  whole  crowd  of  boys  came  streaming  into  the  hut.  I  accused 
them  of  having  waited  just  around  the  comer  until  they  had  seen 
the  Religious  Service  depart.  As  for  Big  Bill  I  consider  him  noth- 
ing short  of  a  slacker,  he  sat  in  the  kitchen  all  evening  and  wrote  a 
letter  to  his  girl.  I  tell  him  that  as  hut  detail  it  is  obviously  his 
duty  to  attend  all  services  but  he  explains  that  "it  makes  him 
homesick." 

In  a  town  on  the  road  between  Mauvages  and  Gondrecourt 
there  is  a  labor  camp  of  Chinese  coolies.  These  are  the  laziest  folk 
in  Europe  I  am  sure.  They  are  supposed  to  be  working  on  the 
road,  which  needs  it  badly  enough,  resembling,  as  one  boy  declared, 
"the  top  of  a  stove  when  all  the  lids  are  taken  ofif."  All  day  long 
they  squat  by  the  roadside,  or  stand  idle  watching  the  traffic  go 
by.  "They'd  rather  be  caught  dead  than  caught  working,"  as 
one  boy  said.  The  story  goes  that  if  one  of  them  dies  the  French 
Government  must  pay  the  Chinese  Government  thirty  francs. 
They  come  dear  at  that.  Moreover,  they  are  unconscionable 
thieves.  Up  on  the  hill  back  of  the  town  where  they  are  billeted 
there  is  an  American  aviation  field.  The  camp  was  abandoned 
after  the  armistice,  but  twelve  boys  from  the  air  service  were 
detailed  to  stay  and  guard  the  property.  These  boys  find  that 
the  chief  end  of  their  life  is  to  chase  the  Chinks  out  of  the 
stores;  they  are  quite  persistent  and  perfectly  unabashed.  More 
than  that,  if  the  Chinks  catch  one  of  the  guards  by  himself,  they 
are  likely  to  attack  in  force  armed  with  sticks  and  as  our  boys 
are  not  allowed  to  carry  weapons,  such  an  attack  is  no  laughing 
matter.  The  trouble  began,  the  boys  tell  me,  in  the  days  when 
the  camp  was  populated;  two  mechanics  had  once  thought  it 
a  good  joke  to  give  one  of  the  Chinks  a  bath  by  ducking  him  in 
the  horse-trough. 

One  of  these  heathen,  I  am  told,  came  to  church  here  at  Mau- 


THE  ORDNANCE  191 

vages  yesterday  and  almost  broke  up  the  meeting.  It  pleased 
him  to  sing  all  the  way  through  the  service,  a  wierd  sing-song 
chant  all  his  own,  and  as  if  that  were  not  bad  enough,  in  the 
middle  of  a  prayer  he  had  turned  square  about  and  started  to  play 
with  the  rosary  of  the  scandaHzed  Madame  behind  him!  The 
most  pious-minded  could  scarcely  keep  their  thoughts  on  the 
priest's  dissertation.  There  was  ^'beaucoup  distraction"  as  one 
Mademoiselle  phrased  it. 

This  morning  I  went  down  to  Gondrecourt. 

*'Well,  and  how  are  your  eight  men?"  asked  the  Business 
Manager. 

"One  of  them  has  gone  to  the  hospital  with  the  mumps,"  I 
answered.    "So  now  I  have  seven." 

Mauvages,  December  12. 

I  have  been  A.  W.  O.  L.  I  have  been  on  a  joy  ride.  For  the 
first  tune  since  I  came  to  France  I  have  taken  a  real  day  off.  I 
got  a  chance  to  go  up  to  the  old  battle  front  on  a  "speeder."  I 
didn't  mention  the  matter  to  the  office,  but  I  took  the  chance. 
I  knew  I  could  safely  trust  the  hut  to  the  management  of  Bill 
and  Nick  for  one  day. 

We  started  out  shortly  after  six  A.  M.,  on  the  narrow-gauge 
bound  for  Mont  Sec.  There  were  five  of  us  on  the  speeder  which 
is,  you  must  know,  a  Httle  flat  car  something  like  a  hand-car, 
only  that  instead  of  being  propelled  by  hand  power,  it  is  run  by  a 
gasolene  motor.  Speeders  are  the  joUiest  possible  way  of  travel- 
ling and  they  can  go  like  the  wind:  they  possess  just  two  dis- 
advantages, their  propensity  for  having  engine  trouble,  and 
the  ease  with  which  they  jump  the  track  at  the  slightest  prov- 
ocation. It  is  told  how  in  Abainville  the  other  day  a  speeder 
jumped  the  rails,  the  engineer,  after  turning  a  half  a  dozen  somer- 
saults, picked  himself  up,  squared  off,  demanded;  "Who  in  hell 
put  the  pebble  on  the  track?" 

From  Mauvages  we  followed  the  A.  and  S.  to  Sorcy.  There 
we  switched  onto  the  line  which  the  boys  at  Abainville  used  to 


192  MAUVAGES 

declare  "ran  through  the  trenches.'*  They  would  tell  me  wonder- 
ful tales  of  the  trips  they  had  taken  on  this  line;  the  smoke-stack 
of  the  engine  protruded  over  the  top,  they  explained,  and  "  Gosh, 
you  could  hear  the  bullets  just  splatterin'  against  it!" 

A  short  ways  out  from  Sorcy  we  passed  the  last  inhabited 
village.  Ahead  of  us  we  could  see  the  barren  sinister  outline 
of  Mont  Sec,  that  little  Gibraltar  of  the  land  which  the  Germans 
had  captured  and  fortified  early  in  the  war,  which  the  French 
had  endeavored  to  retake  in  1915  with  the  most  fearful  losses,  but 
which  had  remained  impregnable,  commanding,  looking  down  in 
contempt  on  our  men  in  their  muddy  lowland  trenches  of  the  Toul 
Sector,  until,  on  September  twelfth,  the  American  Army  had 
taken  it  along  with  the  rest  of  the  Saint  Mihiel  salient. 

As  we  neared  Mont  Sec  we  began  to  pass  devastated  villages, 
some  of  them  mere  formless  ruins,  others  from  a  distance  holding 
the  shape  and  outline  of  habitable  dwelling-places  but  on  ap- 
proach revealing  themselves  as  mere  groups  of  riddled  house- 
shells.  Across  the  open  places  stretched  interminable  grey 
swathes  of  rusting  tangled  wire,  "barbed-wire  enough  to  fence 
Texas,"  as  one  boy  put  it.  On  sidings  we  passed  long  lines  of 
cars  full  of  salvage,  all  the  junk  of  war  tossed  carelessly  together. 
Along  the  tracks  were  scattered  empty  shells  and  here  and  there 
piles  of  unexploded  armnimition.  In  a  shell-hole  by  the  road- 
side, half  filled  with  water,  lay  a  hob-nailed  shoe, — ^prosaic  but 
pitiful  witness  of  some  tragedy.  It  was  the  loneliest  land,  the 
most  forsaken  I  have  ever  seen.  Far  and  wide  as  one  looked  over 
the  empty  plain  there  was  no  living,  moving  creature  anywhere. 

At  the  foot  of  Mont  Sec  we  stopped.  There  in  the  woods  were 
the  remains  of  a  German  camp;  it  had  been  a  jolly  little  place 
fixed  up  like  a  beer  garden  underneath  the  trees,  with  fancy 
"rustic"  work  and  chairs  and  tables.  We  left  the  speeder  there, 
and  tramping  across  the  fields,  climbed  Mont  Sec.  Near  the  top 
we  found  the  entrances  to  the  dugouts.  The  hill  was  tunneled 
through  from  side  to  side,  all  the  corridors  and  rooms  walled, 
roofed  and  floored  with  the  heaviest  oak  lumber.     Everywhere 


THE  ORDNANCE  193 

I  through  the  passage-ways  ran  a  perfect  network  of  electric  wires. 
Long  stairs  led  to  the  different  levels.  No  furnishings  were  left 
except  the  bunks  and  some  rough  tables.  We  ate  our  luncheon 
of  bread,  jam  and  com  willy  in  what  had  evidently  been  the 
officers'  quarters;  the  room  was  nicely  finished  with  cement, 
there  was  a  fancy  moulded  pattern  in  bas  rehef  over  the  door- 
way, a  pipe-hole  showed  where  a  stove  had  been. 

After  lunch  we  inspected  the  concrete  machine-gun  pill-boxes 
which  dotted  the  hill-top.  Then  we  went  down  the  steep  eastern 
slope  to  the  village  of  Mont  Sec.  About  the  town,  to  judge 
from  the  ploughed  and  pitted  vineyards,  the  fighting  must 
have  been  the  fiercest.  The  village  was  a  village  of  the  dead. 
We  went  inside  the  church;  part  of  the  tower,  some  of  the  walls, 
a  little  of  the  roof  was  left,  beyond  that  nothing.  Near  the  door 
a  French  officer  had  scrawled  "Mattdite  soil  le  boche  qui  detruit 
les  egUseSf" — cursed  be  the  Hun  who  destroys  the  churches.  In 
this  church,  Madame  the  Caretaker  tells  me,  the  Germans  com- 
manded all  the  male  inhabitants  of  Mont  Sec  to  assemble.  Here 
they  were  kept  prisoners  for  three  days  and  nights.  On  the 
fourth  day  they  were  marched  off  at  the  bayonet's  point  into 
Germany,  and  no  one  has  ever  heard  a  word  from  them  since. 

Just  outside  the  village  in  the  little  cemetery,  ploughed  with 
shell-holes,  we  found  French,  American  and  German  graves.  The 
German  inscriptions  all  commemorated  "heroes  dead  for  the 
Fatherland;"  one  of  them  vowed,  with  the  help  of  God,  vengeance 
on  the  enemy. 

We  went  back  to  the  speeder.  As  it  was  early  in  the  afternoon 
we  decided  to  go  on.  Rounding  Mont  Sec,  we  passed  into  German 
occupied  territory.  We  saw  the  famous  cabbage  patches  which 
fed  our  soldiers  after  the  Saint  Mihiel  drive,  and,  on  a  hillock  be- 
side the  road,  one  memorable  scarecrow  dressed  from  head  to  foot 
as  a  German  soldier,  "feldgrau"  uniform,  cartridge  belt,  helmet 
and  all.  At  Hattonchatel  we  looked  down  on  the  German  barracks 
from  the  hill-side  but  didn't  have  time  to  stop.  It  was  growing 
late,  so  we  must  turn  about-face.    Once  headed  for  home  our  trou- 


194  MAUVAGES 

bles  began.  The  rain  which  had  been  teasing  us  all  day  as  a  faint 
drizzle,  settled  down  to  business.  A  few  hundred  yards  down  the 
hill-side  the  speeder  jumped  the  track.  Fortunately  we  weren't 
running  fast  and  the  speeder  jumped  on  the  right  side,  if  it  had 
jumped  on  the  left  we  might  have  gone  over  the  edge  of  the  moun- 
tainous hill-side.  As  it  was  no  real  harm  resulted  beyond  a  violent 
bumping  and  shaking  up;  I  jumped  and  got  a  lame  wrist.  "The 
chances  are,  that  whatever  happens,  she  won't  turn  over,"  the 
boys  told  me,  "so  hang  on  after  this.'*  So  I  hung  tight.  The 
engine,  which  had  worked  like  a  charm  all  the  way  up,  began  to 
sulk  and  balk  by  fits.  Presently  it  grew  dark.  We  had  one  lantern, 
we  lighted  it  and  the  boy  who  sat  at  the  front  end  held  it  so  the 
light  would  fall  on  the  rails.  Every  now  and  then  the  wind  would 
blow  it  out.  At  each  station  along  the  track  we  would  stop  and 
ask  the  engineer  operators  whether  the  block  ahead  was  clear. 
When  we  came  to  the  last  station  before  the  long  forest  stretches 
about  Mont  Sec  the  operator  who  came  out  to  speak  to  us  was  quite 
angry;  there  were  three  trains,  he  said,  somewhere  on  the  track 
ahead;  we  were  doing  a  very  dangerous  thing,  running  after  dark. 
We  went  on,  straining  our  eyes  as  we  entered  the  woods  in  order  to 
discern  the  dark  mass  on  the  track  ahead  which  would  mean  a 
train,  for  the  trains,  in  memory  of  war  days,  I  suppose,  carry  ab- 
solutely no  lights.  A  week  ago  a  speeder  ran  head-on  into  a 
train  at  night  just  above  Sauvoy;  of  its  three  passengers,  two  were 
killed,  the  other  fearfully  injured.  We  held  ourselves  tense,  ready 
the  moment  we  had  made  out  a  train,  and  the  speeder  slowed 
down,  to  jump,  and,  lifting  the  car,  push  it  to  one  side  off  the  tracks 
until  the  train  had  passed.  Once  we  were  lucky  enough  to  make 
a  siding  just  at  the  critical  moment.  Sometimes  we  ran  at  the  edge 
of  high  embankments,  sometimes  we  would  cross,  on  a  trestle,  a 
wide  marshy  stream;  then  the  thought  would  come  to  me.  What 
if  the  speeder  should  jump  here?  And  she  did  jump  twice  more  on 
the  way  back,  but  luckily  both  times  in  well-selected  places.  The 
worst  feature  of  these  acrobatics  was  that  the  jar  had  an  unhealthy 
effect  upon  the  engine  and  after  each  occasion  the  mechanics  in 


THE  ORDNANCE  195 

the  crowd  had  to  delve  and  tinker  before  the  speeder  could  be 
coaxed  to  speed  again.  Also  it  was  wet.  The  rain  soaked  through 
my  raincoat,  through  my  sweater,  into  my  leather  jacket;  my  skirt 
was  a  dripping  rag,  the  water  oozed  from  my  gloves,  raindrops 
dripped  from  my  nose,  my  "waterproof"  shoes  were  like  sponges. 
You  felt,  as  one  of  the  boys  put  it,  exactly  like  a  figure  in  a  foim- 
tain. 

Between  Mont  Sec  and  Sorcy  we  got  a  tow.  In  the  dark  we 
came  upon  the  rear  end  of  a  salvage  train,  tied  ourselves  up  to 
it,  and  bumped  merrily  along  behind  until  the  train  turned  off 
on  a  branch  line  and  we  had  to  cut  loose  and  make  our  own  way 
with  the  increasingly  contrary  engine.  Fortunately,  from  that 
point  most  of  the  way  was  down  hill;  on  the  up-grades  we  got  off 
and  walked;  the  last  part  of  the  way  the  boys  simply  had  to  push 
the  car.  We  reached  home  at  half-past  ten,  tired,  soaked  to  the 
skin,  but  happy. 

Mauvages,  December  16. 

After  this,  Mauvages  is  going  to  be  on  the  map!    Mauvages  is 

to  be  headquarters  for  the Artillery  Brigade,  with  seventeen 

hundred  men  in  town  and  thousands  more  in  the  villages  about. 
Wonderful  to  say,  this  is  the  very  brigade  to  which  my  two  bat- 
teries from  the  Artillery  School  belong  and  though  neither  of  these 
will  be  here  in  town,  still  they  will  be  near  enough  so  I  can  get  a 
glimpse  of  my  old  boys,  I  am  sure. 

Already  we  have  an  ammunition  train  and  a  crowd  of  "casuals" 
waiting  here  for  their  outfits.  The  hut,  which  has  of  late  been 
rather  empty  mornings,  is  now  filled  all  day.  These  casuals  are 
for  the  most  part  replacements,  shipped  here  directly  from  the 
ports,  after  a  ten  days'  residence  in  France.  They  have  nothing 
to  do  at  present  but  sit  in  the  hut  and  think  how  miserable  they 
are.  It  is  funny  to  hear  them  talk.  Their  opinion  of  Mauvages 
is  inexpressible  in  polite  terms.  They  are  quite  convinced  that 
they  have  come  to  the  Very  Last  Hole  on  Earth.  In  vain  I  assure 
them  that  Mauvages  is  guite  a  fine  town^  as  French  towns  go,  in 


196  MAUVAGES 

vain  I  draw  their  attention  to  its  beauties  and  advantages.  They 
are  absolutely  certain  that  nothing  could  be  worse! 

Meanwhile  I  have  been  busy  making  frantic  trips  into  Gondre- 
court  to  demand,  in  view  of  the  coming  crowds,  a  new  hut,  an 
electric  lighting  system,  an  addition  to  the  old  hut,  anything  or 
everything,  except  a  man  secretary!  But  Gondrecourt  takes  the 
situation  very  calmly. 

Just  to  pass  the  time  away,  one  of  the  new  arrivals  went  fishing 
in  the  canal  yesterday.  He  bestowed  his  catch  on  me;  it  measured 
about  six  inches  by  one  and  a  quarter.  As  it  was  still  wriggling 
faintly  I  put  the  poor  thing  in  the  water-pail,  only  to  find  later 
that  Big  Bill  in  disgust  had  thrown  water  and  fish  out  into  the  back 
yard.  Whereupon  I  raised  such  an  outcry  that  Bill  must  go  out 
in  the  dark  and  feel  through  the  wet  grass  for  that  fish  until  he 
found  it.  I  carried  it  down  to  camp,  inviting  the  K.  P.s  to  prepare 
it  for  the  C.  O.'s  dinner.  At  dinner  it  appeared  elegantly  garnished 
with  parsley  in  the  center  of  a  huge  platter.  Just  to  pay  me  back 
they  made  me  eat  it,  while  the  rest  dined  on  steak. 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  caught  it?"  asked  the  C.  0.  I  said 
nothing.    Fishing  with  hand-grenades  is  strictly  against  the  law. 

Mauvages,  December  i8. 

Mauvages  is  in  disgrace.  Mauvages  is  the  black  sheep  in  the 
Y.  fold.  Mauvages  is  in  wrong  all  the  way  around.  And  it's  all 
because  of  one  Old  Gentleman  and  his  ill-timed  opinions. 

The  Old  Gentleman  came  out  to  talk  to  us  yesterday  evening. 
We  weren't  expecting  him.  We  were  expecting  a  lecture  on  the 
Man  Without  a  Country, — whoever  that  may  be,  Jack  Johnson  or 
the  Kaiser!  as  the  boys  say, — ^by  the  Educational  Department. 
But  then  we  have  ahnost  given  up  expecting  to  get  what  we  expect. 
This  is  only  the  third  time  we  have  been  fooled  on  the  Man 
Without  a  Country  who  appears  to  be  our  Old  Man  of  the  Sea. 

The  Old  Gentleman  was  brought  out  in  state  in  the  best  Y.  car 
by  the  Big  Chief,  the  Entertainment  Department  and  a  driver. 
The  Entertainment  Department  immediately  ensconced  himself 


THE  ORDNANCE  197 

by  the  cook-stove  with  a  Sunday  Picture  Supplement;  the  driver 
retired  to  a  secluded  corner  to  play  a  game  of  checkers  with  one 
of  the  boys;  while  the  Big  Chief  took  his  stand  out  front.  I  for 
once  back-slid  scandalously,  and,  instead  of  occupying  a  front 
seat  with  a  deeply  interested  expression  spread  upon  my  counten- 
ance, sat  in  the  kitchen  and  ate  jam  and  waflSes,  the  waffles 
which  were  heart-shaped  and  crisp  and  heavenly,  having  been 
brought  by  Nick  from  his  latest  supper  party. 

The  Old  Gentleman  stood  out  by  the  stove,  the  stage  proving 
too  chilly.  There  was  a  crowd  in  the  hut.  He  put  his  foot  in  it 
at  the  start.  He  announced  himself  as  an  intimate  friend  of  ex- 
President  Roosevelt.  The  boys,  sniffing  politics,  grew  suspicious, 
even  hostile.  He  began  on  the  scandal  of  America's  unprepared- 
ness,  from  that  passed  by  degrees  to  the  view  that  Germany  was 
not  yet  defeated  and  as  a  climax  called  upon  the  boys  to  rise  and 
put  themselves  on  record  as  being  wiUing  to  stay  in  France  until 
Kingdom  come,  if  necessary,  in  order  to  do  the  job  up  brown. 
The  boys  did  not  rise.  Instead  they  heckled  the  Old  Gentleman 
until  he  grew  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock  and  so  indignant  as  to  fairly 
wax  speechless.  One  of  the  ammunition  train  boys,  a  husky  lad 
who,  they  tell  me,  is  an  old  guard  house  standby,  led  the  opposi- 
tion. Out  in  the  kitchen  you  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  The 
Entertainment  Department  and  I  sat  and  stared  at  each  other. 

The  whole  trouble  as  I  saw  it,  was  that  the  Old  Gentleman  had 
slipped  up  on  his  dates.  He  was  giving  them  a  Bef ore-Novem- 
ber-Eleventh speech  when  it  was  after  the  eleventh.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  quite  failed  to  comprehend  that  at  eleven  o'clock  on 
that  date  the  whole  psychological  outlook  of  the  American  dough- 
boy underwent  an  instantaneous  change.  His  entire  mental 
horizon  became  forthwith  concentrated  to  one  burning  point, — 
the  desire  which  he  expresses  simply  but  adequately  in  the  words; 
*'I  want  to  go  home!"  And  not  ex-President  Roosevelt,  nor 
President  Wilson,  nor  General  Pershing,  nor  anybody  else  could 
make  him  interested  in  anything  that  was  not  remotely,  at  least, 
related  to  that  issue. 


198  MAUVAGES 

At  last  the  agony  was  over.  The  Old  Gentleman  came  back  to 
the  kitchen  mopping  his  brow.  When  he  had  finished  expressing 
his  opinion  of  Mauvages,  the  driver  went  out  to  crank  the  car. 
The  car  was  gone.  Of  course  then,  everyone  remembered  having 
heard  a  car  drive  off  in  the  middle  of  the  lecture, — every  one 
that  is,  but  I,  I  had  been  too  interested  in  the  waffles, — ^but  of 
course  no  one  had  really  thought  that  it  could  be,  etc.  A  search 
party  was  recruited  which  scoured  highway  and  byway.  The 
M.  P.s  at  Gondrecourt  were  notified  by  'phone.  Meanwhile  it 
was  ten  o'clock,  a  bleak  night  and  four  indignant  gentlemen  were 
stranded  six  miles  from  home.  An  ambassador  was  elected  to  go 
and  lay  the  case  before  the  A.  R.  C.  O.  The  C.  O.  on  his  way  to 
bed,  instructed  the  emissary  where  billets  for  the  night  might 
possibly  be  had.  But  the  Old  Gentleman,  upon  receiving  the 
information,  flatly  and  finally  refused  to  stay  in  any  billet  in 
town;  he  would  sleep  in  his  own  bed  or  no  other.  After  a  nervous 
interval  the  ambassador  again  approached  the  C.  O.,  this  time 
suggesting  the  loan  of  his  car  and  chauffeur.  The  C.  O.,  aroused 
a  second  time  from  bed,  acceeded  shortly,  the  ambassador  returned 
to  despatch  the  unfortunate  Bill  to  camp  to  break  the  news  to  the 
chauffeur.  The  chauffeur,  who  was  in  the  midst  of  an  after- 
hours  poker  game,  when  he  recovered  from  his  astonishment, 
replied  (expurgated)  that  he'd  come  when  he  got  good  and  ready, 
and  settled  back  to  his  game. 

In  the  meantime  my  four  guests  by  the  kitchen-stove  discussed 
in  part  the  peculiarities  of  the  Japanese  language,  but  chiefly  the 
short-comings  of  Mauvages.  The  Chief,  however,  showed  himself 
a  gentleman.  He  washed  the  dishes  up!  And  considering  that 
he  was  a  man  and  a  minister  and  that  the  light  was  dim  and  the 
water  cold,  he  washed  them  pretty  well. 

At  a  quarter  to  eleven  the  A.  R.  chauffeur  having  presumably 
forced  all  the  others  into  bankruptcy,  or  gone  bankrupt  himself, 
drove  up  to  the  door  and  I  said  farewell  to  my  friends. 

This  morning  a  rescue  expedition  was  sent  out  from  Gondre- 
court.   It  finally  discovered  the  lost  car,  none  the  worse  for  its 


THE  ORDNANCE  199 

joy-ride,  in  a  ditch  half-way  to  Sauvoy.  Information  has  reached 
me  on  the  side  that  it  was  a  little  group  of  "hard-boiled  guys" 
from  the  ammunition  train  who  stole  the  auto.  They  were  dis- 
pleased with  the  Old  Gentleman's  opinions,  and  they  made  up 
their  minds  that  he  should  walk  home. 

So  this  is  how  matters  stand:  I  and  my  hut  are  in  discredit  at 
Headquarters,  because  my  boys  stole  their  car.  The  Old  Gentle- 
man has  openly  declared  that  Mauvages  is  the  most  unpatriotic 
spot  in  France.  The  A.  R.  C.  O.  is  disgusted  because  he  was  routed 
twice  out  of  bed  in  one  night.  The  chauffeur  is  so  incensed  at 
me  and  mine  at  having  to  drive  into  town  at  eleven  P.  M.  that  he 
persistently  forgets  to  stop  for  my  daily  papers.  And  the  boys 
are  all  sore  and  touchy  on  account  of  the  opinions  expressed  by 
the  Old  Gentleman  in  and  after  his  lecture.  Such  is  the  happy 
lot  of  a  hut  secretary. 

Mauvages,  December  23. 
The  Big  Push  is  here.  Our  lawn  has  turned  into  a  gun  park  with 
limbers  and  caissons  elbowing  each  other  under  our  very  eaves.  All 
day  the  little  hut  is  crowded  to  its  capacity  and  at  night  it  becomes 
so  full  that  I  am  literally  afraid  it  will  burst  out  at  the  seams. 
Colonels  and  captains  are  forever  bobbing  up  like  so  many  Jack- 
in- the-Boxes  in  my  kitchen  which  I  was  used  to  consider  as  a  ref- 
uge and  a  sanctum.  They  have  the  best  intentions  in  the  world; 
they  offer  me  advice  on  every  subject  under  the  sun  from  the 
building  of  new  shelves  in  the  canteen  to  the  frequency  with  which 
I  should  require  Big  Bill  to  shave.  And  quite  unsoUcited  they  have 
given  me  a  detail, — a  detail  of  such  proportions  that  I  am  swamped. 
I  don't  know  how  many  there  are.  They  never  stand  still  long 
enough  for  me  to  count  them.  Sometimes  there  appear  to  be  ten 
and  sometimes  twenty.  Like  the  Old  Woman  who  lived  in  the 
shoe,  I  have  so  many  details  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  They  are 
the  nicest  boys  that  ever  were,  if  only  they  didn't  take  up  quite  so 
much  room!  Now  when  I  am  minded  to  sit  down  for  a  moment  to 
think,  my  only  course  is  to  go  into  the  store-room  and  sit  on  a 


200  MAXWAGES 

packing-box,  and  the  store-room  is  very  cold.  And  the  worst  of  it 
is  that  they  all,  from  colonel  to  K.  P.,  have  the  beautiful  idea  in 
their  heads  that  I  am  not  to  do  any  work,  but  just  to  be  a  sort  of 
parlor  ornament,  and  a  sweet  influence;  that  I  will,  in  short,  like 
the  old  man  who  was  afraid  of  the  cow,  "sit  on  the  stile  and  con- 
tinue to  smile,"  while  the  army  runs  my  hut.  Which  is  not  at  all 
my  notion  of  things. 

In  the  meantime  we  have  been  busy  making  such  preparations  for 
Christmas  as  we  could.  Chiefly  we  have  decorated  the  hut.  I 
begged  two  boxes  full  of  lanterns,  flags,  tinsel  and  festoons,  from 
the  office,  then  I  merely  mentioned  the  fact  that  I  wanted  a  tree 
and  lots  of  branches  to  trim  with  and  the  boys  did  the  rest.  I 
don't  know  where  those  greens  came  from,  I  don't  want  to  know. 
But  there  is  one  spectre  that  keeps  haunting  me;  the  apparition  of 
an  indignant  Frenchman  at  my  canteen  door,  with  a  bill  half  a 
metre  long  for  damages. 

This  new  outfit  has  brought  a  heathen  custom  to  town  with 
them.  The  band  plays  for  Reveille!  We  had  been  so  peaceful,  so 
unmilitary  here  in  town  with  not  so  much  as  a  bugle  note  to  make 
a  ripple  in  our  slumbers!  But  now  at  some  unimagined  hour  be- 
fore daylight  a  brazen  clangour  bursts  suddenly  forth.  Down  the 
street  and  past  under  my  window  in  the  dark  they  go,  making  the 
grand  tour  of  the  three  streets  in  town,  thumping  and  tooting  as  if 
their  Uves  depended  on  it.  I  never  knew  a  band  could  make  such 
an  amazing  racket,  nor  could  sound  quite  so  joyously  impudent.  A 
bucketful  of  cold  water  couldn't  dispel  sleep  any  more  effectively. 
I  feel  like  jumping  out  of  bed.  But  I  don't,  for  it  is  pitch  dark  and 
cold  and  very  damp.  There  is  a  fire-place  to  be  sure  in  my  room 
but  after  one  or  two  fruitless  attempts  at  making  it  produce  a  little 
heat  I  abandoned  the  idea  and  decided  to  spend  all  my  time  be- 
tween my  bed  and  the  canteen.  But  when  I  desire  to  view  my 
countenance  in  the  mirror,  I  have  to  take  a  towel  and  wipe  off  the 
moisture  that  collects  on  it  to  trickle  down  in  little  streams. 

I  have  received  my  first  Christmas  present.  Bill  and  Nick — 
the  dears! — have  presented  me  a  beautiful  silk  umbrella.    I  think 


THE  ORDNANCE  201 

they  did  it  largely  for  the  honor  of  the  family.  As  long  as  my  old 
faithful  only  had  its  handle  gone,  they  could  overlook  it,  but  when 
the  ribs  took  to  parting  company  with  the  covering,  they  evidently 
thought  that  something  should  be  done  about  it.  Nick  went  to 
Gondrecourt  to  buy  it;  coming  back,  he  managed  to  fall  off  the 
truck,  was  picked  up  and  given  first  aid  by  a  kindly  Frenchwoman, 
and  reached  home  in  slightly  damaged  shape  but  with  the  precious 
umbrella  safe.  I  have  been  suggesting  to  Bill  that  he  set  a  two 
franc  piece  in  the  handle  and  then  I  will  have  his  and  Nick's  ini- 
tials carved  on  it,  but  he  doesn't  wax  enthusiastic. 

Mauvages,  December  25. 

We  sat  up  half  the  night  packing  Christmas  boxes, — seventeen 
hundred  of  them,  one  for  every  man  in  Mauvages,  Two  packages 
of  cigarettes,  a  cigar,  two  bars  of  chocolate  and  a  can  of  ' 'smoking" 
went  into  each  little  cardboard  box  labelled  in  red  "A  Merry  Xmas 
from  the  folks  at  home  through  the  Y;"  that  is,  theoretically  they 
went  in,  practically  it  was  discovered  that  no  human  ingenuity 
could  so  arrange  the  pesky  things  as  to  make  them  fit  the  box. 
So  finally  we  decided  to  treat  the  "smoking  "  as  a  separate  affair.  I 
wanted  badly  to  have  Santa  Claus  hand  the  boxes  to  the  boys 
underneath  the  Christmas  tree,  but  the  boys  finally  convinced  me 
that  the  difiiculties,  including  the  danger  of  *' repeaters"  ad  lib, 
were  too  great,  so  we  fitted  the  boxes  into  packing-cases  and  shipped 
a  case  to  each  company  and  let  each  of  the  top  sergeants  play 
that  he  was  Santa  Claus. 

It  was  half  past  twelve  by  the  time  I  passed  the  church  on  my 
way  back  to  the  billet.  They  were  celebrating  midnight  mass. 
The  Hght  of  the  altar-candles  illumined  the  old  windows  with  a 
soft  radiance.  They  were  Y.  M.  C.  A.  candles.  Monsieur  le  Cure 
had  begged  them  from  me  in  the  afternoon;  he  could  get  no  others, 
he  said,  and  was  in  great  distress. 

Chez  nous  there  was  much  activity.  I  stopped  inside  the  door 
to  chat  with  the  cooks.  They  were  up  plucking  the  Colonel's 
goose  and  expected  to  make  a  night  of  it. 


202  MAUVAGES 

Sounds  of  gaiety  were  ringing  from  the  dining-room.  A  young 
lieutenant,  slightly  touseled,  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  door.  I 
wished  him  a  Merry  Christmas;  in  return  he  asked  me  in  to  par- 
take of  an  anchovy  sandwich.  I  took  one  look  inside  the  door  at 
the  array  of  empty  bottles,  decUned  with  thanks,  and  climbed  the 
stairs  to  bed.  For  a  long  while  afterwards  someone  downstairs 
kept  mewing  Uke  a  cat.  It  might  have  been  the  slightly  touseled 
lieutenant. 

To-day  it  has  been  raw  and  damp  and  chill  and  grey  and  drizzly. 
I  had  a  notion  that  I  might  ask  the  French  kiddies  in  this  after- 
noon to  see  the  tree  and  receive  some  little  gifts  of  cookies  and 
chocolate  but  when  I  reached  the  hut  this  morning  and  saw  how 
packed  it  was  I  quickly  gave  up  the  project.  Not  for  all  the  chil- 
dren in  ten  villages  would  I  turn  the  boys  out  into  the  rain. 

Tonight  there  is  to  be  some  sort  of  show,  arranged  by  the  enter- 
tainment officer. 

Just  before  dinner  time  the  Second  Lieutenant  from  the  A.  R. 
came  in,  looking  full  of  mysterious  importance.  "The  C.  O.  leaves 
this  noon,"  he  said.  "He's  ordered  to  report  at  Souilly  by  twelve 
tonight.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  later."  Later  I  learned.  In- 
spectors had  been  visiting  the  dump.  They  had  found  it  in  a  very 
dangerous  state  indeed.  The  wet  weather  has  affected  the  ex- 
plosives so  that  should  the  sun  come  out  for  a  day  or  two  the  chemi- 
cal change  ensuing  would  in  all  probability  cause  an  explosion 
which  would  set  off  the  whole  dump  with  its  millions  of  dollars 
worth  of  high  explosives.  In  which  case  little  Mauvages  would  of 
course  go  higher  than  Halifax.  The  C.  O.  has  been  removed  and 
the  Second  Lieutenant  left  in  charge.  The  work  of  destroying  the 
dangerous  explosives  is  to  be  pursued  at  top  speed.  In  the  mean- 
while we  will  pray  for  continued  rain. 

I  received  two  gifts  today  that  touched  me  deeply.  One  was  a 
pretty  pink  embroidered  scarf  from  the  boys  at  the  aviation  field. 
The  lad  who  brought  it  to  me  had  walked  twelve  miles,  into  Gondre- 
court  and  back  again  in  the  sleety  rain,  to  buy  it!  The  other  was 
a  package  labeled;  "Wishing  you  a  Mary  Xmas  from  the  Opera- 


THE  ORDNANCE 


203 


tors  at  A.  S.  No.  9,  and  may  the  next  one  be  in  the  States."   Inside 
were  two  boxes  of  chocolates,  their  Christmas  candy  issue! 

As  for  me,  I  am  ashamed — I  have  been  so  busy  and  so  bothered 
that  I  just  couldn't  seem  to  manage  a  gift  for  anyone,  not  for  Bill 
nor  Nick  nor  even  Monsieur  le  Cur4. 

Mauvages,  December  28. 

Neddy  has  come  back!  His  battery  has  just  arrived  at  Ros- 
ieres  and  last  night  he  got  ofif  and  walked  over  here  to  see  me. 

We  sat  and  talked  by  the  kitchen-stove  and  I  found  him  just 
the  same  shy,  slow-spoken  dreamy  lad.  The  long  months  at  the 
front  have  seemingly  instilled  nothing  bitter  in  him,  nor  left 
any  scars  on  his  spirit,  no  matter  if  he  is  wearing  a  wonderful 
belt  quite  covered  with  German  buttons  all  "cut  off  of  dead  ones. " 
He  dug  out  of  his  pockets  for  me  two  odd  Httle  picture  frames 
made  cleverly  out  of  rings  from  German  fuses,  with  pieces  of 
celluloid  cut  from  the  eye-holes  of  German  gas-masks  for  glass, 
and  held  together  with  surgeon's  plaster.  Then  of  course  there 
were  the  latest  pictures  of  his  girl  to  show  me. 

He  told  me  about  the  battery.  On  the  whole  their  casualties 
have  been  light.  Jones  was  gassed,  and  is  in  hospital  somewhere; 
it  seems  just  like  Jones,  somehow,  to  get  gassed!  The  boys,  he 
told  me,  had  been  fairly  homesick  for  the  Httle  old  Artillery 
School  Hut, — most  of  all,  he  said,  they  had  missed  my  hot 
chocolate. 

Then  just  to  make  the  occasion  perfect,  who  should  walk  in 
but  Snow!  Snow's  battery  is  at  Delouze,  two  towns  away;  but 
Snow  has  been  on  leave  down  on  the  Riviera,  having  the  time  of 
his  young  Ufe. 

"I  never  could  see  what  there  was  in  this  country  worth  fighting 
for,"  he  told  me,  "until  I  went  down  there.    But  now  I  know." 

He  had  just  returned  from  his  furlough  this  very  afternoon. 
He  hadn't  a  thing  to  eat  all  day,  being  of  course,  "dead  broke." 
I  got  the  best  impromptu  supper  I  could  and  we  all  three  sat  in 
the  kitchen  and  ate  it.    The  menu  was:  crackers  and  canned  milk; 


204  MAUVAGES 

sardines  and  crackers;  cracker-pudding  and  cocoa;  crackers  and 
jam.  The  boys  gossiped  and  swapped  yarns  like  two  old  vet- 
erans. Neddy  related  how  the  gunners  at  the  front  when  loading 
would  pat  and  even  kiss  a  shell  as  they  adjured  it  not  to  be  a  dud  I 

Snow  told  me  how ,  the  talented,  the  brilliant,  had  gone  to 

pieces  at  the  front  and  had  been  sent  back  to  the  S.  O.  S.  This 
must  have  been  hard  on  Snow  for  the  two  were  close  friends.    "I 

said  to  him  one  day,"  recounted  Snow,  " ,  you  must  have  done 

something  awfully  wicked  in  your  life  to  make  you  so  afraid  to 
die."  Undoubtedly  the  poor  fellow's  failure  was  due,  not  so  much 
to  lack  of  courage,  as  to  over-sensitiveness  and  too  much  imagin- 
ation. The  pity  of  it  is  that  this  will  surely  prove  a  bad  blow  to 
his  self-respect. 

When  it  was  time  for  Neddy  to  go  I  saw  there  was  something 
he  wanted  to  say  to  me.  At  last  it  came  out.  Around  his  neck,  it 
seems,  he  is  still  wearing  the  chain  with  the  Uttle  cross  which  I 
gave  him  when  he  went  to  the  front.  And  he  has  the  unshak- 
able notion  in  his  quaint  head  that  it  was  the  cross  which  kept 
him  safe! 

Mauvages,  December  29. 
Tonight  we  gave  a  party:  hot  chocolate  and  cookies  for  the 
whole  camp.  Every  Sunday  before  the  Big  Push  came  I  had  been 
serving  hot  chocolate  free  but  I  had  been  staggered  by  the  thought 
of  trying  to  make  chocolate  for  seventeen  hundred  men  on  my 
little  stove  that  is  just  big  enough  to  sit  on,  over  a  fire  which  has 
to  be  coaxed  with  German  powder  sticks  and  candle  ends  before  it 
will  burn,  and  serving  it  in  our  sixty  odd  cocoa  bowls.  This  morn- 
ing, however,  I  had  an  inspiration.  I  consulted  the  detail,  they  ap- 
proved. Accordingly  we  sent  requests  to  three  of  the  battery  mess- 
kitchens,  asking  that  they  should  each  furnish  us,  at  five-thirty,  the 
largest  container  they  possessed  full  of  hot  water.  Then  we  asked 
the  mess  sergeants  to  annouce  the  party  at  supper  and  tell  the 
boys  to  bring  their  mess-cups.  The  sentry  at  the  street  comer  was 
also  instructed  to  letno  one  pass  without  his  mess-cup.    Then  we 


THE  ORDNANCE  205 

started  in,  heating  all  the  water  we  could  manage,  making  choco- 
late paste,  opening  whole  cases  full  of  canned  milk. 

At  six  o'clock  the  fun,  per  schedule,  began.  The  boys  lined 
up  from  the  counter  to  the  stage.  But  instead  of  a  single  line, 
it  soon  became  evident  we  had  two,  one  coming  and  one  going, 
which  together  formed  an  endless  chain  like  a  giant  wheel  which 
kept  slowly  but  surely  revolving.  After  the  second  or  third  time 
around  a  boy  would  begin  to  acquire  a  sUghtly  sheepish  look  and 
endeavor  to  avoid  my  eye,  but  when  they  found  that  all  they  got 
was  a  grin  and  "I'm  glad  you  like  it!"  they  grinned  back  un- 
ashamed. 

"I  can't  stop,"  joyfully  explained  one  lad  to  me,  "I'm  in  the  line 
and  I  can't  get  out;  I  just  gotter  keep  on  coming  round." 

"Oh  boy!  but  that's  the  best  thing  I've  had  in  France!"  de- 
clared another. 

While  a  third  announced;  "Gee,  but  I'm  full  all  the  way  up! 
If  I  drink  another  drop  I  sure  will  bust " — a  confession  which 
may  have  contained  more  fact  than  fancy,  for  some  of  the  boys 
did  drink  so  much  that  they  got  sick  right  then  and  there.  It  was 
an  orgy.  And  when  the  last  of  the  four  huge  containers  had  been 
drained  to  a  drop,  why  everyone,  I  beUeve,  for  once  had  had 
enough. 

"You've  got  all  the  business  in  town  right  here  tonight,"  one  of 
the  boys  informed  me.  "I  just  took  a  look  in  at  the  cafes.  Every 
one  of  them  is  empty." 

Personally  I  feel  that  the  party  was  a  Great  Success.  We 
shall  have  to  have  one  just  like  it  every  Sunday. 

Mauvages,  January  i,  1919. 
Mes  meilleurs  voeux  de  Bonne  Anneel  or,  as  the  boys  say;  "Bun 
Annie! "  We  welcomed  the  new  Year  in  con  molto  giuhilo.  Down- 
stairs at  my  billet  there  was  music  until  late  and  after  that  sounds 
as  of  a  repetition  of  the  Christmas  party.  At  twelve  o'clock  by 
the  old  church  bell,  the  band,  which  I  had  imagined  long  since 
safe  and  sound  in  bed,  burst  forth  into  music  and  straggled  down 


2o6  MAUVAGES 

the  street  playing  "  There'll  be  a  hot  time  in  the  old  town  tonight^'* 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  most  rakish  airs  in  its  repertoire.  I  stepped 
out  on  my  Juliet  balcony.  The  boys  were  setting  off  pyrotech- 
nics of  all  sorts  ''salvaged"  from  the  dump;  flares,  colored  lights, 
and  rockets.  The  street  burned  out  of  the  darkness  in  rose- 
colored  mist  against  which  showed  black  silhouettes  of  soldiers 
who  waved  their  arms  and  shouted  and  sang;  while  from  the  edge 
of  the  village  sounded  a  sharp  tattoo  of  rifle  shots.  Just  as  the 
light  was  beginning  to  fade  out  I  heard  an  emphatic  bang  of  the 
front  door  below  me  and  looking  down  saw  two  figures;  a  httle 
brisk  bustling  one  and  a  tall,  lean  one  go  hurrying  down  the  path 
and  out  the  gate.  It  was  our  Colonel  and  an  attendant  oflScer. 
Retribution,  I  knew,  was  bearing  down  upon  the  revellers.  Sure 
enough,  this  morning  I  learned  that  the  Colonel,  sallying  forth, 
had  struck  right  and  left,  leaving  a  trail  of  arrests  all  over  town. 

But  even  with  the  Colonel's  sortie,  quiet  did  not  descend  on 
Mauvages  for  some  time.  The  party  below-stairs  was  not  confined 
to  the  mess-hall  this  time  but  was  also  bemg  celebrated  in  the 
kitchen.  At  about  one  o'clock  a  K.  P.  stumbled  up  the  stairs 
and  knocked  on  the  door  of  the  Cure's  chamber  just  across  from 
me.  He  had  some  champagne  for  the  Cure,  he  explained  in  thick 
and  execrable  French.  The  Cure  must  drink  it  in  honor  of  the 
New  Year.  It  was  good  champagne.  I  could  hear  the  Cure 
replying  from  his  bed  in  rapid  deprecating  sentences,  but  the 
K.  P.  held  to  his  point;  he  had  set  his  heart  on  the  old  man's 
joining  the  celebration.  ^^ Champagne  bun,"  he  kept  repeating, 
"  Vous  camarade.  Bun  annie. "  For  a  long  time  they  carried  on 
the  argument,  but  finally,  as  the  priest  implacably  refused  to 
open  his  door,  the  genial  K.  P.  gave  up  in  disgust,  confiding  to 
his  friends  as  he  reached  the  floor  that  the  Cure  was,  after  all, 
nothing  but  a  dried  up  old  fish. 

This  morning  I  went  down  to  Headquarters  to  turn  in  my 
accounts.  Alas,  for  the  vanity  of  human  intentions!  At  Christ- 
mas I  had  sent  httle  boxes  of  fudge  to  several  of  the  men  at  the 
office,  hoping  thereby  to  curry  favour  for  my  canteen  and  coun- 


THE  ORDNANCE  207 

teract  any  bad  impressions  which  our  delinquencies  in  the  matter 
of  attending  Sunday  Services  and  appropriating  other  people's 
autos  might  have  caused.  Now  I  find  I  have  made  more  enemies 
among  the  ones  that  I  left  out,  than  I  made  friends  of  the  ones  I 
favoured. 

In  spite  of  this  sad  condition  of  affairs  I  managed  to  tease  one 
driver  into  agreeing  to  take  me  to  Vaucouleurs.  At  Vaucouleurs 
I  had  been  told  that  there  was  a  commissary  where  one  could 
purchase  candles,  and  the  boys  are  desperately  anxious  for  candles. 
At  first  I  did  not  quite  understand  so  burning  a  desire  as 
they  exhibited,  but  now  I  am  wise.  They  want  them — ^poor 
wretches! — so  they  can  "read  their  shirts,"  before  they  go  to  bed! 
I  stayed  down  in  Gondrecourt,  missing  dinner,  and  then  set  out 
for  Vaucouleurs  with  my  heart  full  of  hope  and  my  pockets 
crammed  with  currency.  It  was  a  long,  cold  trip  in  the  driving, 
drizzly  rain.  Arrived  at  Vaucouleurs  we  found  that,  being  the 
first  of  the  month,  the  commissary  was  closed  for  inventory. 

Mauvages,  January  3. 

Everybody  has  a  little  pet  trouble  of  his  own  these  days.  The 
A.  R.  has  its  share  and  more  of  them.  Lieutenant  C.  recounted 
some  of  his  tonight.  He  had  been  carrying  the  dangerous  explo- 
sives over  beyond  the  woods  to  the  west  of  the  town  where  they 
were  being  blown  off.    Then  the  French  Town  Major  had  called. 

It  wouldn't  do,  he  said,  to  blow  off  the  ammunition  there  any 
more;  there  were  sick  people  in  the  town  and  the  explosions  fairly 
made  them  jump  right  up  out  of  their  beds.  And  really  one  couldn't 
blame  them.  So  then  the  Lieutenant  had  switched  to  the  north, 
over  beyond  the  narrow-gauge,  only  to  be  promptly  visited  by  a 
furious  delegation  of  engineers.  Whether  it  was  because  proper 
precautions  hadn't  been  taken  or  what  I  don't  know,  whatever  the 
case,  in  the  course  of  the  explosions  a  large  rock  had  made  a  gaping 
hole  in  the  roof  of  A.  S.  No.  9  and  narrowly  missed  one  of  my  good 
friends  the  operators.  The  complaint  of  the  engineers  was  shortly 
followed  by  an  indignant  ultimatum  from  the  Captain  at  Abain- 


2o8  MAUVAGES 

ville  who  is  in  charge  of  the  railway.  Unless  the  explosions  were 
forthwith  stopped,  he  threatened,  no  more  trains  would  be  run 
on  the  road.  On  top  of  all  this  the  Colonel  of  artillery  must  call 
the  Lieutenant  to  account.  The  boys  whom  he  arrested  New  Year's 
night  had  been  shooting  off  their  rifles.  The  shells  must  have 
come  from  the  dump.  Since  it  was  Lieutenant  C's  dump,  it  was 
his  business  to  keep  his  shells  in  their  proper  places.  Therefore 
Lieutenant  C.  was  responsible  for  the  shooting. 

I  don't  know  just  how  the  matter  has  been  arranged  with  the 
Captain  at  Abainville,  but  the  explosions  beyond  the  tracks  have 
been  going  on  all  day.  Latest  reports  testify  that  that  roof  of  A.  S. 
No.  9  is  riddled  like  a  sieve  with  stone-holes  and  that  the  cook, 
who  never  was  known  to  be  a  religious  man,  spends  all  his  time 
beneath  the  table  praying. 

Two  of  the  ordnance  boys  have  been  badly  burned  while  setting 
off  the  explosions,  and  the  whole  detachment  is  sore  and  disheart- 
ened because  they  are  being  worked  so  hard  in  the  mud  and  rain 
and  their  Sunday  holiday  denied  them.  Special  details  from  the 
artillery  are  being  sent  to  work  at  the  dump  every  day  in  order 
to  hasten  the  work  of  destruction,  but  these  boys,  too,  are  sullen 
and  rebellious.  They  have  been  used  to  handling  shells  at  the  front, 
they  say,  and  they  consider  it  an  indignity  to  have  to  handle  them 
here  in  the  dump  as  if  they,  forsooth,  belonged  to  the  ordnance! 
And  so  the  work  goes  none  too  quickly.  Everyone  has  been  in- 
structed to  keep  a  particular  lookout  for  German  delay  fuses,  those 
deadly  little  infernal  machines,  which  can  be  set,  according  to  the 
strength  of  the  acid  which  eats  through  the  spring,  to  explode 
any  time  between  a  week  and  six  months.  They  are  disguised 
cleverly  to  look  exactly  like  ordinary  percussion  fuses,  the  only 
betraying  mark  being  a  tiny  six  pointed  star  on  the  nose.  Several 
have  already  been  found  planted  in  dumps  which  contained  cap- 
tured German  ammunition,  and  the  tale  runs  through  camp  that 
some  have  been  discovered  here,  although  this  I  rather  suspect  is 
just  another  army  rumor. 

Tonight  one  of  the  ordnance  boys  hobbled  into  the  hut,  his  left 


THE  ORDNANCE  209 

foot  swathed  in  bandages;  a  shell  had  fallen  on  a  toe  and  crushed  it. 
I  attempted  to  sympathize. 

"Don't  waste  any  of  your  sympathy  on  me,"  he  retorted,  "I'm 
the  luckiest  feller  you  know.  There  ain't  a  man  in  camp  who  don't 
envy  me." 

As  for  me,  I  am  having  a  few  pet  troubles  too.  One  of  these 
is  concerned  with  the  army  dentist  at  Gondrecourt.  And  this  is 
all  in  consequence  of  the  kind  operators  at  A.  S.  No.  9  and  their 
Christmas  chocolates,  for  among  those  chocolates  was  a  caramel 
and, — well  that  candy  was  made  in  Switzerland  and  so  was  prob- 
ably pro-German  anyway. 

Yesterday  I  had  to  witness  the  harrowing  spectacle  of  a  stal- 
wart doughboy  being  separated  from  a  tooth.  When  the  ghastly 
business  was  over  he  shook  himself. 

"I've  been  over  the  top,"  he  declared,  "and  got  filled  up  with 
machine-gun  bullets," — ^he  was  wearing  two  wound  stripes, —  "but 
I'll  tell  the  world  them  bullets  weren't  nothin'  to  that  tooth!" 

But  the  chief  of  my  troubles  is  the  hut  lighting  problem.  So 
far,  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  any  response  to  my  petition  for  an 
electric  lighting  system.  Our  fine  carbide  lamps  are  a  frank  fizzle, 
our  candles  are  all  gone,  we  have  nothing  but  a  few  lanterns  and 
small  oil  lamps.  Every  day  someone  breaks  my  heart  by  breaking 
another  lamp  chimney,  and  new  ones,  alas!  are  not  to  be  had  for 
love  or  money  in  this  part  of  France.  Moreover  the  boys  have 
developed  a  most  inconvenient  habit  of  walking  off  with  the  lamps. 
At  first  I  said  in  exasperation;  "Well,  let  them  take  them!  As 
soon  as  the  oil  burns  out  they'll  find  the  lamps  aren't  any  use  to 
them."  But  I  didn't  reckon  on  their  Yankee  ingenuity.  They  are 
smart  enough,  it  seems,  to  bring  back  the  empty  ones,  and  ex- 
change them  for  filled  ones,  every  evening! 

Mauvages,  January  5. 
Mauvages  is  in  a  state  of  mind  for  mutiny,  and  it's  all  over  a 
little  piece  of  cloth  about  two  inches  square.    The  case  is  this; 
the Artillery  Brigade,  having  served  six  months  contin- 


2IO  MAUVAGES 

uously  at  the  front,  having  participated  in  all  the  big  ofTensives, 
and  having  won  an  enviable  reputation,  was  attached,  on  coming 

to  this  area,  for  the  sake  of  military  convenience,  to  the 

Division  already  stationed  here,  a  draft  organization  which  had 
never  been  to  the  front  at  all.  The  artillery  were  far  from  pleased 
over  the  arrangement,  but  they  managed  to  swallow  their  pride 
and  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter.  A  few  days  ago,  however,  the 
order  came  out  that  they  were  to  abandon  the  insignia  of  their  old 
division  and  appear — every  last  man  of  them, — ^with  the  insignia 
of  the  new  division  on  his  arm.  The  men  were  furious.  The  bat- 
teries stationed  at  Rosieres  made  a  bonfire  and  burned  the  detes- 
table insignia  publicly,  for  which  they  got  two  weeks  restriction 
to  camp  and  a  new  set  of  httle  red  patches.  One  boy  sewed  his 
*' clover-leaf,"  as  they  call  them,  to  the  seat  of  his  breeches.  Rain- 
coats have  become  all  the  wear,  even  in  the  best  of  weather,  for 
under  these  the  hated  symbol  is  hidden.  Indeed  the  feeling  was 
so  intense  that  in  some  places  both  ojficers  and  men  tore  off  th^u: 
service-stripes  before  putting  on  the  new  insignia. 

I  alone  in  the  town  am  wearing  the  insignia  of  the  old  division 
and  this  is  a  wonderful  and  weird  affair  cut  out  of  turkey  red  bunt- 
ing and  pinned  to  my  sweater  sleeve  in  a  moment  of  reminiscent 
loyalty  by  my  indignant  detail.  But  the  band  keeps  on  lustily 
proclaiming  the  brigade's  undying  allegiance,  for  every  morning 
for  Reveille,  as  it  makes  the  grand  tour  of  the  town  it  brays  forth 
defiantly  the  war  march  of  the  old  division. 

"We  haven't  got  orders  to  stop  that!^^  says  the  leader. 

Since  the  spirit  of  rebellion  is  abroad  I  have  been  managing  a 
little  mutiny  of  my  own.  It  came  about  in  the  matter  of  Sunday 
movies.  Up  till  the  present  we  had  been  accustomed  to  having  a 
service  every  Sunday  night,  but  since  the  artillery  moved  in  we 
have  been  furnished  with  a  full-fledged  morning  service  by  the  regi- 
mental chaplain,  in  view  of  which  I  had  set  my  heart  on  having 
movies  in  the  evening  rather  than  a  second  service.  I  based  my 
position  on  the  grounds  that,  since  to  my  notion  at  least,  the  main 
end  of  the  work  over  here  is  simply  to  keep  the  boys  away  from  the 


THE  ORDNANCE  2n 

things  that  would  hurt  them,  on  Sunday  night,  the  most  dangerous 
night  of  all  the  week,  this  could  best  be  done  by  drawing  them  to 
the  hut  with  a  movie  show;  always  provided  that  their  "religious 
needs"  had  been  supplied  earlier  in  the  day. 

The  movie  machine  was  at  the  hut,  I  had  found  an  operator  in 
one  of  the  batteries,  a  Uttle  Jewish  boy  who  bragged  of  long 
experience  in  the  states;  all  I  wanted  was  a  fihn.  I  went  with  my 
request  to  the  office.  My  logic  it  seemed  to  me  was  unassailable. 
But  the  office  couldn't  see  it  that  way.  After  much  debate  we 
agreed  to  disagree  in  theory.  In  practice  I  carried  off  my  film. 
But  I  did  it  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  My  relations  with  the 
office  have  always  been  quite  cordial,  this  was  the  first  incident 
to  cast  a  gloom  over  them.  Anyway,  I  thought,  we're  going  to 
have  those  movies!    I  advertised  the  show  extensively. 

Sunday  night  came.  The  hut  was  thronged.  I  was  feeling 
ratJier  particularly  pleased  with  things.  We  had  ministered  to 
the  boys'  souls  in  the  morning,  fortified  the  inner  man  with  free 
hot  chocolate  at  six  o'clock,  now  we  were  going  to  finish  out  the 
day  by  satisfying  their  romantic  cravings  with  a  fihn  drama  of 
love  and  adventure. 

But  oh!  for  the  pride  that  goes  before  the  stumbling-block! 
When  it  came  to  the  test  it  seemed  that  the  Uttle  operator,  for 
all  his  bragging,  couldn't  make  the  movie  machine  go.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  the  lad  didn't  understand  the  foreign  make,  perhaps 
it  was  because  the  machine  needed  to  be  talked  to  in  French,  or 
perhaps  it  was  just  because  the  project  had  been  unblessed  from 
the  beginning;  I  don't  know.  We  had  half  the  camp  ganged 
around  the  machine,  offering  to  take  a  hand.  Everybody  was 
criticizing  and  advising,  which,  I  suppose,  added  the  last  touch  to 
the  little  operator's  confusion.  After  waiting  an  interminable  time 
in  the  dark  we  witnessed  a  few  feeble  flickers  on  the  screen  and 
then  darkness  once  more.  The  audience  dribbled  disgustedly  away. 
They  probably  made  up  for  their  disappointment  in  the  cafes. 

This  morning  the  driver  stopped  at  the  hut  to  take  the  machine 
away.    "Have  a  good  show,  last  night?"  he  asked. 


212  MAUVAGES 

"Umm  hm,"  said  I,  grinning  cheerfully. 

I  am  praying  that  the  truth  about  that  show  never  reaches 
the  office! 

Mauvages,  January  io. 

Tonight  I  leave  Mauvages.  Two  weeks  more  and  I  shall  be 
** homeward  bound."  I  am  so  tired  that  it  has  seemed  to  me  for 
some  time  that  the  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  go  home.  There 
isn't  any  room  in  France  these  days  for  anyone  who  isn't  per- 
fectly strong,  perfectly  rested.  A  week  ago  I  went  to  Nancy  and 
persuaded  the  lady  in  charge  of  the  women  workers  of  this  divi- 
sion, after  some  argument,  to  let  me  go.  I  have  already  over- 
stayed my  contract  by  eight  months.  Now  they  have  telegraphed 
from  Paris  that  they  have  a  saiUng  for  me.  The  man  secretary 
is  here  to  take  over  this  hut. 

Because  I  hate  leave-takings  I  tried  to  keep  the  fact  that  I 
was  going  dark  until  the  very  last  minute  but  at  the  end  word  got 
around.  The  boys  came  flocking  into  my  kitchen  with  messages  and 
missives  for  the  states.  Boys  whom  I  had  never  to  my  knowledge 
seen  before  pledged  me  to  call  up  their  wives  on  the  long  distance 
telephone  as  soon  as  I  should  land.  One  boy  gave  me  two  German 
fuses  weighing  a  number  of  pounds  apiece  to  carry  home.  If  I 
would  take  one  for  him,  I  might  keep  the  other  one,  he  said. 

''Say  hello  to  the  Statue  of  Liberty  for  me!" 

*'Give  my  regards  to  Broadway." 

"Say  Lady,  can't  you  take  me  in  your  trunk?"  they  chorused. 

As  for  Nick,  he  has  instructed  me  to  go  to  Brooklyn,  pick  out 
the  best  hat  in  his  wife's  millinery  store,  "And  tell  the  missus 
it's  on  me." 

I  have  taken  my  last  agonized  inventory,  turned  in  my  last 
accounts, — balanced  by  Big  Bill.  This  afternoon  I  went  to  take 
my  last  look  at  the  little  hut.  It  is  all  torn  to  pieces,  they  have 
begun  to  build  that  addition  which  I  started  begging  for  a  month 
ago;  I  slipped  one  of  my  canteen  tea-cups  into  my  bag  just  for  old 
times  sake. 

Neddy  came  in  to  say  Good-bye.    At  the  last  moment  he  shyly 


THE  ORDNANCE  213 

placed  a  little  box  in  my  hand.  In  it  was  a  pretty  gilt  Lorraine 
cross.  He  had  walked  all  the  way  into  Gondrecourt  to  get  it.  He 
would  have  bought  me  a  chain  too,  he  explained  with  a  flush, 
only  he  was  "pecuniarily  embarrassed."  Dear  Httle  Neddy!  If 
he  only  knew  how  much  better  I  liked  it  without  the  chain. 

My  luggage  is  all  packed  and  Bill  has  strapped  it  up  for  me. 
I  have  said  adieu  to  the  Cur^  and  the  Colonel.  Madame  the  Care- 
taker has  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks  and  dropped  a  tear  over  me. 
Now  I  am  waiting  for  the  A.  R.  jitney  to  come  and  take  me  to  the 
station. 

A  horrid  thought  has  just  occurred  to  me.  The  captain's 
cognac  must  be  still  in  the  corner  of  the  store-room  shelf.  What 
mil  the  secretary  think? 


CHAPTER  VII 

VERDUN 
THE  FRENCH 

Paris,  January  12 

It  is  fortunate  that  the  world  looks  tolerantly  on  a  certain 
instability  in  the  feminine  mind.  When  I  left  Mauvages  there  was 
just  one  thought  in  my  head, — to  go  straight  home.  I  have  been 
twenty-four  hours  in  Paris;  already  my  resolution  is  wavering. 
It's  all  on  account  of  what  they  said  to  me  at  the  Headquarters 
office. 

Paris  is  truly  a  different  city  from  the  one  I  last  saw  in  Sep- 
tember on  my  way  back  from  Saint  Malo;  the  streets  thronged 
with  people,  and  brightly  Hghted  at  night,  the  shop  windows 
gay  and  inviting,  freed  from  their  patterned  lattices  of  paper 
strips  which  formerly  protected  the  glass  from  the  concussions 
caused  by  shells  and  bombs.  In  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  the 
statue  representing  the  City  of  Strasbourg,  divested  of  the  mourn- 
ing wreaths  which  it  has  worn  ever  since  1870,  now  smiles  trium- 
phantly above  a  mass  of  flags  and  flowers;  and,  most  thrilling  of 
all,  the  crouched  grey  guns  of  Germany,  like  so  many  dumb  im- 
potent monsters,  throng  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  stretch  in  a 
double  Hne  along  the  Champs  Elysees  all  the  way  to  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe. 

Everywhere  the  shop  windows  display  a  picture;  a  woman's 
form,  heroic,  bearing  a  great  sword,  with  wide  spread  wings  which 
are  at  the  same  time  wings  and  American  flags;  before  her  the 
bent  and  cowering  form  of  the  Emperor;  while  beyond,  a  sea  of 
khaki,  illimitable  hosts  of  warriors  melting  away  in  waves  against 
the  horizon;  and  underneath  the  words: 

"But  what  tremendous  fleet  could  have  brought  hither  such 
an  army?" 


THE  FRENCH  215 

"The  LusUania." 

The  Patisserie  shops  are  full  of  enticing  Httle  cakes  once 
more;  but,  sad  to  say,  the  quality  one  finds  has  depreciated  while 
the  prices  have  gone  sky-rocketing.  I  thought  I  would  economise 
this  noon  and,  instead  of  eating  a  five  franc  luncheon  at  the  hotel, 
substitute  a  cup  of  cocoa  and  some  little  cakes  at  a  tea-shop. 
When  I  came  to  pay  my  bill  it  was  seven  francs  fifty!  While  I 
was  partaking  of  my  frugal  repast  a  French  Red  Cross  nurse  came 
into  the  shop  leading  two  blind  poilus.  She  bought  them  each 
some  cakes  as  if  they  had  been  two  Httle  boys  and  they  stood 
there  eating  them.  The  poilu  nearest  me,  a  tall  fine-looking 
fellow,  tasted  his,  "Ah!'^  he  exclaimed,  ''c'est  une  vrai  Madeleiner* 
He  Hed.  It  was  no  more  like  a  pre-war  Madeleine  than  chalk  is 
like  cheese,  but  if  it  had  been  made  of  India-rubber  I  suppose  he 
would  have  said  the  same  thing,  and  said  it  with  just  the  same 
grave  and  gracious  courtesy. 

Now  that  the  war  is  over,  one  feels  sorrier  than  ever  for  the 
French  officers  who  haven't  medals. 

"The  Frenchies  are  issuing  the  croix  de  guerre  with  their  rations 
now,"  the  boys  used  to  say.  And  indeed  when  one  sees  a  French 
officer  without  some  sort  of  decoration  one  feels  instinctively 
that  something  must  be  the  matter  with  him. 

To  go  or  not  to  go?  I  am  thinking  of  a  compromise.  I  will 
postpone  my  sailing,  take  the  furlough  that  is  due  to  me.  At  the 
end  of  two  weeks  I  can  calmly  make  up  my  mind. 

Cauterets,  January  20. 
"There's  only  one  poor  feature  about  this  place;"  declared 
a  boy  today,  "  they  won't  let  you  stay  long  enough." 

This  is  a  representative  but  not  a  universal  sentiment.  Some 
of  the  boys  don't  like  the  snow,  for  Cauterets  being  high  in  the 
Pyrenees,  is  deep  in  snow  at  present.  A  few  complain  that  they 
don't  get  enough  to  eat.  It  is  the  breakfasts  chiefly  that  fail  to 
satisfy.  The  French  having  been  used,  time  out  of  mind,  to  a 
petit  dejeuner  of  rolls  and  cofiee,  utterly  fail  to  comprehend  the 


2i6  VERDUN 

American  need  for  heartier  sustenance.  When  the  contracts  with 
the  hotels  were  made  it  was  carefully  stipulated  that  eggs,  meat 
or  fish  should  be  served  at  breakfast  in  addition  to  the  continental 
menu,  but  the  quantities  were  not  stated  and  to  a  hearty  doughboy 
on  a  cold  morning  one  egg  is  a  mere  tantalization,  if  not  an  insult. 
Every  morning  you  may  see  them  flocking  in  swarms  to  the  Y.  in 
order  to  round  out  their  unsatisfactory  breakfasts  with  hot  choco- 
late and  bread  and  jam.  Yesterday  I  overheard  some  indignant 
splutterings  from  a  little  crowd  at  one  of  the  canteen  tables. 

"What's  the  matter,  boys?" 

"They  gave  us  fish  this  morning  for  breakfast!" 

"They  did?" 

"Yep !    One  sardine  to  each  man ! " 

Yet  in  spite  of  a  few  such  inharmonious  notes,  Cauterets,  like 
Saint  Malo  and  Aix-les-Bains,  is  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  Amer- 
ican soldier  on  leave.  And  the  American  soldier  on  leave  is  the 
Playboy  of  the  Western  World.  When  the  last  doughboy  has 
walked  up  the  gang-plank  of  the  last  west-bound  transport,  I 
think  the  railway  officials,  gate-keepers,  station  agents,  and  train 
conductors  all  over  France  will  settle  back  in  their  chairs  and  draw 
a  deep  breath  of  relief. 

The  French  poilu  and  the  English  Tommy  have  both  questioned 
often  and  bitterly  why  it  was  that  while  they  must  ride  third  class, 
the  American  soldier  habitually  traveled  second  and  first;  the  an- 
swer being  that  you  simply  can't  keep  the  doughboys  out!  It  is 
the  idea  of  the  social  distinction  implied  by  the  classes  I  fancy  that 
makes  half  the  trouble.  However  that  may  be,  it  is  absolutely 
against  the  rules  of  the  game  for  any  doughboy  to  ride  third  class 
if  there  are  any  second  class  coaches,  and  equally  disgraceful  to  ride 
second  class  if  there  is  a  first.  I  myself  have  seen  an  American 
buck  private  with  third  class  transportation  in  his  pocket  stretch- 
ing his  legs  in  a  luxurious  first  class  compartment  seat,  while  a 
French  general  stood  up  outside  in  the  corridor!  At  another  time 
I  took  a  journey  in  a  first  class  compartment  built  for  six,  in  which 
three  English  officers,  an  English  titled  Lady,  her  companion,  two 


THE  FRENCH  217 

muddy  doughboys  and  myself  were  all  crowded.  This  was  an 
anxious  trip  for  me,  for  not  only  was  I  worried  lest  an  indignant 
conductor  should  eject  the  doughboys,  but  I  was  also  guiltily  con- 
scious of  having  paid  only  a  second  class  fare  myself! 

One  joyous  company  of  eight  lads  on  leave  whom  I  encountered 
on  the  way  down  here  counted  in  their  number  one  sergeant  with  a 
well-worn  second  class  pass.  Things  arranged  themselves  very  sim- 
ply. In  the  line-up  at  the  gate  or  in  the  car,  the  sergeant,  heading 
the  file,  presented  his  pass  first,  then,  as  it  was  handed  back  to 
him,  sHpped  it  behind  his  back  to  the  next  man  and  so  on  down  the 
line.  Once  in  a  second  class  compartment  it  was  usually  an  easy 
matter  to  transfer  to  first.  This  same  crowd  related  to  me  how, 
when  locked  out  of  an  empty  first  class  compartment  by  an  irate 
conductor  they  merely  waited  until  the  next  stop,  then  getting 
out  climbed  through  the  window  on  the  off  side  of  the  train  into 
the  forbidden  seats. 

"  Golly,  but  that  old  frog  got  a  shock  when  he  looked  in  through 
the  glass  door  and  saw  us  sitting  there!" 

They  were  overcome  with  chagrin  because  at  the  last  change  one 
member  of  the  party  allowed  himself  to  be  bulHed  by  a  hard-boiled 
M.  P.  into  leaving  the  first  class  car. 

"He's  broken  our  record,"  they  mourned;  "he's  disgraced  the 
family!"  And  half  their  pleasure  in  the  remainder  of  the  trip  was 
spoiled  it  was  evident. 

Irrepressible,  curious  of  all  things,  awed  by  nothing,  the  dough- 
boy cares  not  a  snap  of  his  fingers  for  the  whole  of  French  Official- 
dom. An  officer  told  me  how,  when  standing  on  a  station  plat- 
form the  other  day,  an  irate  and  husky  doughboy  sailed  by  him, 
headed  for  the  baggage-room  in  search  of  somebody's  luggage. 

"If  you  hear  a  noise.  Major,"  he  remarked  in  transit,  "you'll 
know  that  I'm  stepping  on  a  frog." 

The  French  railway  system  affords  him  a  never-failing  topic 
for  amusement.  And  truly  it  has  its  quaint  points.  On  the  trip 
down  we  passed  over  one  line  where  the  heating  system  for  the 
cars  consisted  entirely  of  long  flat  metal  cans  filled  with  hot  water 


2i8  VERDUN 

which  were  shoved  in  under  our  feet,  so  that,  no  matter  how  chilly 
the  rest  of  us  might  be,  our  toes  at  least  could  travel  in  comfort; 
while  on  the  walls  of  each  coach,  we  observed  with  glee,  was  an 
ojQ5cial  notice  requesting  the  passengers  to  refrain  from  throwing 
objects  such  as  empty  bottles  out  the  windows  as  numerous  casual- 
ties among  the  employees  had  resulted  from  this  practice! 

The  doughboy  passes  everywhere  by  virtue  of  the  magic  words, 
"wo  compree.^^  Traveling  he  develops  a  stupidity  that  is  absolute 
and  unshakable. 

"I  never  understand  anything  they  say,"  chuckled  one  young- 
ster joyously,  "until  they  begin  to  talk  about  something  to  eat". 

Wonderful  tales  are  told  of  escapades  and  adventures;  such  as 
the  story  of  the  boy  who  started  out  to  spend  his  leave  at  Aix-les- 
Bains  and  traveled  half  over  Italy  before  he  came  back,  all  on  the 
the  strength  of  the  pass-word  "onion-stew"  and  an  unidentified 
document  that  happened  to  have  a  red  seal  attached.  Common 
rumour  has  it  that  the  official  report  records  sixty  thousand 
A.  W.  O.  L.s  at  the  present  date  in  the  A.  E.  F.  in  France.  I  don't 
know  whether  this  is  correct,  but  I  rather  hope  it  is.  Now  that  the 
war  is  won  I  am  glad  that  in  spite  of  Provost  Marshals  and  M.  P.s 
some  of  the  boys  at  least  are  on  the  way  to  discovering  that  there 
is  something  more  to  France  than  just  "mud  and  kilometers." 

Paris,  February  7. 

I'm  going  to  stay.  If  I  went  home  now  I  would  feel  like  a  quit- 
ter all  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  don't  know  where  I'm  going.  They 
asked  me  if  I  would  Uke  to  go  to  Germany  but  I  said  no,  I  didn't 
want  to  look  at  Germans.  I  shall  have  to  stay  here  in  Paris  for 
a  week  or  so  an3rway  in  order  to  get  that  wretched  business  of  a 
broken  tooth,  which  the  Christmas  caramel  at  Mauvages  began, 
straightened  out.  In  the  meantime,  I  am  doing  what  I  can  in  a 
perfectly  amateur  and  impromptu  way  to  help  young  America  see 
Paris. 

Paris  is  the  lodestar  of  France  for  the  A.  E.  F.  From  every  part 
of  the  country  it  draws  them  like  a  magnet.    When  on  leave,  no 


THE  FRENCH  219 

matter  from  what  portion  of  France  they  may  have  come  or  what 
corner  they  may  be  bound  for,  they  always  contrive  to  get  there  by 
way  of  Paris.  If  the  R.  T,  O.  instructs  them  to  change  to  another 
line  before  they  reach  the  city,  they  arrive  there  just  the  same,  to 
explain  blandly  to  the  M.  P.  that  they  went  to  sleep  on  the  train: 
"and  when  I  woke  up,  why  here  I  was  in  Paris!"  What  dodges 
the  doughboys  haven't  worked  in  order  to  circumvent  the  M.  P.s 
and  get  into  Paris  without  official  permission,  or  once  in  Paris  to 
stay  longer  than  the  short  time  allotted  them,  would  be  beyond 
human  imagination.  There  is  one  story  current,  for  whose  truth 
though,  I  cannot  vouch,  of  an  American  private  who  passed 
a  week  in  the  forbidden  city  in  the  uniform  of  his  cousin,  a  lieu- 
tenant in  the  French  Army.  At  the  time  of  the  signing  of  the 
armistice,  for  several  days  the  M.  P.s'  vigilance  was  relaxed  and 
boys  from  all  over  France  swarmed  to  the  city  to  participate  in 
the  festivities,  but  since  then  the  penalties  for  the  unlucky  ones 
who  are  caught  have  grown  more  and  more  severe. 

Yesterday  by  request  I  took  two  boys  to  the  Louvre.  We 
wandered  through  the  galleries  of  Greek  and  Roman  sculptures. 
One  boy,  looking  at  the  yellowed  and  discolored  surfaces,  de- 
clared himself  bitterly  disappointed.  He  had  heard  that  the 
statues  were  all  real  marble  here,  but  it  was  perfectly  plain  that 
they  were  nothing  but  plaster  imitations!  The  other  boy  asked 
naively  if  the  mutilated  statues  were  "meant  to  represent  people 
who  had  had  their  heads  chopped  off. "  After  about  half  an  hour 
they  consulted  their  watches,  announced  that  we  had  just  time  to 
get  to  a  movie  show,  and  wouldn't  I  go  with  them? 

But  if  the  finer  points  of  Greek  art  are  lost  on  many,  there 
are  plenty  of  other  things  which  they  do  appreciate. 

"  Can  you  climb  to  the  top  of  the  Eiffel  tower?  " 

"Where  is  the  church  that  the  shell  struck  on  Good  Friday?'' 

"What  would  you  advise  me  to  buy  to  send  home  to  Mother?" 

"How  often  does  the  Ferris  Wheel  go?" 

"Is  there  any  place  in  Paris  where  one  can  get  ice-cream  soda?" 
These  are  some  of  the  questions  that  they  ask  you.    Some  go 


220  VERDUN 

to  the  Opera,  sitting  invariably  in  the  best  seats  to  the  amazement 
of  the  French  people.  Yesterday  I  stopped  at  the  box-office  to 
buy  some  tickets.    A  boy  standing  just  inside  the  door  spoke  to  me. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  were  you  going  to  buy  a  seat  for  this 
afternoon?  " 

"No,"  I  said;  "for  Saturday." 

"I  have  an  extra  ticket.    I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  use  it." 

He  went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  was  taking  the  six  o'clock  train, 
that  he  had  bought  tickets  for  himself  and  a  friend  for  the  matinee 
as  a  last  pleasure,  but  that  his  friend  had  failed  him.  I  hesitated, 
uncertain.  "What's  the  opera?"  I  asked,  just  because  it  was 
something  to  say. 

"It'sLaBoheme,"hesaid.    I  feU. 

"I'm  mighty  glad,"  he  told  me,  "I  was  just  about  to  go  out  and 
pick  up  a  chicken  on  the  street,  when  you  came  in." 

The  opera  was  a  dream  of  loveliness.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  have 
done  something  very  good  indeed  in  some  previous  existence  to  be 
thus  rewarded. 

Today  I  encountered  two  boys  who  told  me  how  they  had 
"done"  Paris. 

"We  stopped  at  a  store  and  bought  a  bunch  of  post  cards,  all 
the  famous  buildings  and  everything.  Then  we  got  a  taxi.  After 
that  all  we'd  do  was  to  show  the  chauffeur  a  post  card  and  he'd 
drive  us  to  it, — then  we'd  show  him  another  one,  and  so  we  kept 
a-goin'  until  we'd  seen  most  all  of  Paris.  But  gee!  That  taxi  bill 
was  a  fright!" 

This  afternoon,  coming  down  the  "Boulevard  de  Wop,"  as  the 
boys  call  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  I  paused  beside  a  fiacre, 
attached  to  a  particularly  wretched  looking  old  nag,  which  was 
drawn  up  by  the  side-walk.  Into  it  were  piling  merrily  some 
eight  or  nine  doughboys,  the  cabman  fairly  dancing  on  his  seat  as 
he  uttered  frantic  but  perfectly  unheeded  expostulations.  Finally 
as  the  cabby  appeared  to  be  developing  apoplexy,  I  spoke  up. 

"Boys,  you  know  that  really  that  broken-down  old  beast  never 
coidd  pull  all  of  you!" 


THE  FRENCH  221 

Whereupon  half  of  them  immediately  piled  out  again.  One  of 
the  remaining  ones  leaned  out  of  the  fiacre. 

"Say  Lady,  can  you  talk  French?"  he  demanded  earnestly. 

"Why  a  Httle." 

"Well  tell  that  old  guy  for  me,  will  you,"  he  indicated  the 
still  disgruntled  cocher  who,  like  the  rest  of  his  tribe,  was  crowned 
with  an  ornamental  "stove-pipe,"  "that  I  want  him  to  lend  me 
his  hat." 

Tonight  I  met  a  girl  I  know  who  is  in  the  Hut  Equipment 
Department.  She  has  just  returned  from  an  extended  tour  of 
inspection.  I  told  her  I  didn't  know  where  my  next  assignment 
was  to  be. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  Verdun?"  she  asked.  "The  conditions 
about  there  are  worse  than  any  other  place  in  France.  Men  are 
commiting  suicide  there  every  day." 

So  I  wrote  a  note  to  the  Office  asking  that  I  be  sent  to  Verdun. 

Bar-le-Duc,  February  16. 

Somewhere  here  in  Bar-le-Duc  there  is  an  extraordinary  thing. 
It  is  the  Mausoleum  of  Ren4  of  Chalons,  prince  of  Orange,  and 
designed  in  accordance  with  his  wishes.  Against  an  ermine  mantle, 
under  a  rich  armorial  crest,  stands  a  skeleton  or  rather  the  rotting 
carcass  of  a  man,  half  bone  and  half  disintegrating  tissue,  holding 
aloft  in  one  ghastly  hand,  his  heart,  an  offering,  so  the  story  goes, 
to  his  lady  wife. 

Every  time  I  am  in  Bar-le-Duc,  even  it  if  is  only  an  hour  between 
trains,  I  go  hunting  for  that  skeleton;  but  the  nearest  I  have  come 
so  far,  is  to  find  it  on  a  picture  post  card.  Once  I  thought  I  had 
surely  run  it  to  earth  when  I  came  upon  a  strange  old  church 
built  so  as  to  bridge  a  narrow  moat-like  canal,  and  so  low  that  it 
seemed  as  if  the  water  must  ooze  up  through  the  stone  slabs  of  the 
floor,  but  no. 

I  am  here  at  Bar-le-Duc  for  a  few  days  because  it  seems  that 
after  all  it  isn't  quite  certain  whether  I  had  better  go  to  Verdun 
or  to  Souilly.    While  my  fate  is  being  decided,  I  am  acting  as  a 


222  VERDUN 

sort  of  errand-girl,  special  messenger  and  Jack-of-all-jobs  here  at 
Headquarters. 

This  morning  I  went  out  in  a  flivver  to  do  an  errand.  The 
driver  told  me  how,  a  few  days  ago,  he  had  carried  a  young  French 
girl  all  over  the  country-side  looking  for  her  aviator-lover's  grave. 
Finally  with  the  help  of  a  French  officer  they  had  found  it.  The 
girl  had  placed  a  wreath  on  the  grave,  said  a  little  prayer  and 
turned  away.  He  showed  me  the  place,  three  grey  wooden  crosses, 
one  with  a  china  wreath  on  it,  marking  the  field  where  a  large 
aviation  camp  had  once  been  and  now  quite  the  loneliest  and  most 
deserted  spot  in  the  world. 

Coming  back,  I  was  sent  to  the  Provost  Marshal's  office  to 
telephone.    While  I  waited  for  my  connection  two  M.  P.s  brought 

in  a  prisoner.     He  belonged  to  the Division  which  reached 

France  in  September.  Two  days  after  he  landed  he  went  A.  W. 
O.  L.  and  had  been  missing  ever  since.  By  some  unknown  means 
he  had  managed  to  acquire  a  tj^ewriter  and  all  winter,  it  appeared, 
he  had  been  living  in  the  woods  supporting  himself  by  typing 
faked  travel  orders  and  selling  them  to  the  soldiers.  He  was  a 
heavy-set  fellow,  sullen  and  taciturn  under  their  questioning. 
They  went  through  his  pockets  and  turned  out  the  collection  on 
the  table;  chewing  gum,  tobacco,  a  shaving-set,  old  newspapers, 
screws  and  nails,  buttons  and  string  and  matches  and  pins,  pen- 
cils, and  post  cards,  a  knife  and  three  toothbrushes. 

Bar-le-Duc  I  understand  does  a  thriving  business  in  A.  W.  O.  L.s. 
One  of  the  M.  P.s  told  me  of  a  lad  who,  when  asked  for  his  papers, 
took  to  his  heels  and  was  promptly  pursued. 

''I  chased  him  all  over  town,  and  finally  I  ran  him  into  the 
canal,"  he  narrated  joyfully.  "He  stood  out  there  with  the  water 
up  to  his  waist  while  I  stood  on  the  bank  and  shied  stones  at  him. 
And  he  had  on  a  serge  uniform  too." 

"How  did  it  end?^' I  asked. 

"Oh  I  let  him  go;  I  figured  if  he  wanted  to  get  away  that  bad 
he  had  a  right  to." 

Up  this  same  canal  a  few  weeks  ago  came  a  flotilla  of  French 


THE  FRENCH  223 

submarines  bound  for  the  Rhine,  the  sailors  startling  the  inhabit- 
ants by  their  sudden  appearance  in  the  streets  in  their  naval 
uniforms  and  their  casual  references  to  their  ships  close  at  hand. 
Somebody  was  unkind  enough  to  declare  that  the  subs  had  started 
their  journey  from  the  coast  on  Armistice  Day,  but  I  am  sure  this 
must  be  a  Hbel. 

This  afternoon  I  asked  if  I  might  work  in  the  canteen.  This  is 
in  a  French  house,  a  few  doors  beyond  the  beautiful  Officers' 
Club,  the  home  of  one  of  the  wealthy  manufacturers  of  the  Con- 
fiture de  Bar-le-DuCf  lent  by  him,  rent-free  for. the  use  of  the  Amer- 
icans during  the  war.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  I  became  the 
possessor  of  a  puppy-dog  presented  me  by  a  motor-truck  driver, 
who,  following  some  careless  remark  of  mine  about  wishing  I  had 
a  puppy,  dropped  the  scared  little  black  thing  in  my  arms  and  fled. 
As  soon  as  I  could  collect  my  senses  I  flew  around  the  counter  and 
out  the  door  after  him,  calling  on  him  to  take  his  dog  back.  But 
when  I  reached  the  street,  motor-truck  and  driver  both  had 
vanished.  I  would  have  loved  to  keep  the  httle  beggar,  but  here 
I  am,  a  transient  traveller  bound  for  nobody  knows  where;  what 
could  I  do?  I  explained  my  dilemma  to  the  grinning  crowd  in  the 
canteen.    One  of  the  boys  spoke  up. 

"I'll  take  him  and  give  him  to  my  French  girl,"  he  said.  I 
relinquished  the  Uttle  fellow  regretfully.  I  hope  Mademoiselle 
makes  him  a  good  foster-mother. 

A  little  while  later  I  noticed  a  boy  at  the  counter  who  wore 
three  service  stripes  and  two  wound  stripes.  "What's  your  divi- 
sion?" I  asked.  He  told  me.  He  belonged  to  my  old  regiment! 
He  had  been  in  the  Milk  BattaHon  at  Goncourt,  and  he  remem- 
bered me.  He  was  a  Class  B  man  now  and  in  the  post  office  at 
Bar-le-Duc. 
^       "What  of  the  rest?"  I  asked. 

"They're  mostly  dead,"  he  answered,  and  he  told  me  how, 
after  one  charge,  out  of  the  whole  Company  M  six  men  and  the 
captain  had  come  back. 

I  broke  down  and  cried;  I  couldn't  help  it.    The  boy,  embar- 


324  VERDUN 

rassed,  drew  away.  He  is  the  only  man  I  have  seen  out  of  my 
regiment  since  last  March,  and  all  he  could  say  was,  "They're 
mostly  dead!"  Dead  at  Chateau-Thierry,  dead  on  the  Marne, 
dead  by  Soissons,  dead  in  honor,  dead  with  glory.  America,  will 
you  ever  forget? 

Bar-le-Duc,  February  i8. 

Everyone  here  is  incensed  this  morning  over  the  action  of  the 
French  troops  in  the  matter  of  the  theatre.  It  seems  that  the 
Americans  had  arranged  a  schedule  of  movies  and  shows  to  be 
given  at  the  local  theatre  a  month  in  advance.  A  soldier  show  was 
billed  for  tonight,  the  company  had  reached  town,  the  audience  was 
beginning  to  gather  from  the  nearby  villages,  when  the  French 
troops  who  began  to  arrive  in  town  yesterday  announced  that  they 
had  their  own  exclusive  and  immediate  uses  for  the  building.  All 
efforts  to  arbitrate  the  matter  have  so  far  failed.  And  now  word 
comes  that  a  French  lieutenant  in  order  to  be  ready  to  repel  any 
possible  move  on  the  part  of  the  Americans  to  take  possession  of 
the  theatre  for  the  night  has  had  his  bed  made  up  in  one  of  the 
boxes! 

It  is  the  greatest  of  pities  that  there  should  be  this  wretched 
element  of  friction  between  the  two  allies.  If  every  American  could 
have  been  miraculously  whisked  out  of  France  the  day  after  the 
armistice  was  signed  the  doughboy  would  likely  have  been  to  this 
day  a  bit  of  a  popular  French  idol.  It  is  this  hanging  about  with 
no  ostensible  end  in  view  that  frays  nerves  on  both  sides  and  leads 
to  a  mutual  stepping  on  each  other's  toes.  No  two  nationalities 
I  am  convinced  could  be  thrown  into  such  an  intimate  and  trying 
relationship  and  produce  perfect  harmony.  There  must  inevitably 
be  a  clash  of  temperaments.  The  case  in  this  instance,  as  I  see  it, 
is  complicated  to  an  extraordinary  degree,  with  human  foibles  and 
failings  a-plenty  on  both  sides. 

We  Americans  have  undoubtedly  been  guilty  of  bad  manners. 
Quite  openly  and  persistently  the  doughboy  has  called  the  French- 
man "frog"  to  his  face  and  this  the  French  have  by  no  means  en- 


THE  FRENCH  225 

joyed.    The  odd  part  of  the  thing  is  that  the  doughboy  can  give 
no  explanation  of  the  nickname. 

"But  why  do  you  call  them  frogs?  "  I  ask  the  boys.  Usually 
they  look  quite  blank. 

"It's  'cause  they  sound  like  frogs  when  they  talk,"  explained 
one  lad. 

"  'Cause  they  jump  around  Hke  frogs  when  they  get  excited," 
offered  another. 

Not  one  of  them  suspects  that  this  nickname  is  a  curious  sur- 
vival of  the  old  term  of  contempt  "Frog-eaters"  applied  to  the 
French  by  the  EngUsh  in  the  days  when  they  were  enemies  instead 
of  alHes! 

Undoubtedly  too  the  feminine  factor,  leading  as  it  has  to  jealousy, 
has  played  its  share  in  arousing  antagonism. 

"The  chief  victories  of  the  Americans  in  France,"  declared  a 
French  officer  bitterly  the  other  day,  "are  his  conquests  over  the 
feminine  heart!" 

Indeed  from  the  start  it  has  been  an  open  secret  that  the  "Mad- 
emoiselles" have  taken  a  prodigious  fancy  to  the  American  soldier. 
This  is  partly  because  he  possesses  the  charm  of  novelty,  partly 
because  he  has  money  and  can  procure  chocolate  and  cigarettes  and 
partly  just  because  he  is  himself. 

"There  are  three  thousand  men  in  this  town  and  three  girls," 
ran  a  postal  addressed  by  a  joyous  youngster  on  leave  to  his  lieu- 
tenant; "I'm  going  with  one  of  them  and  Abe  has  the  other  two." 

And  who  can  blame  the  poilu  for  a  certain  amount  of  resentment, 
when,  coming  back  from  the  trenches  he  has  discovered  that  a  dash- 
ing American  stationed  at  an  engineering  camp  in  his  home  town 
has  supplanted  him  in  the  affections  of  his  sweetheart? 

On  the  American  side  there  is  of  course  the  old  grievance  of  the 
overcharging. 

"D'you  know  why  you  don't  see  any  Jews  in  France?"  asked  a 
lad  of  me  the  other  day,  "It's  because  they  couldn't  make  a  living." 

In  part,  this  sense  of  grievance,  as  I  see  it,  is  justifiable.  An 
officer  told  me  not  long  ago  that  he  had  recently  been  left  behind 


226  VERDUN 

when  his  outfit  moved  out  from  a  village,  as  "Mop  Up  Officer" 
to  settle  the  claims  of  the  townspeople  for  damage  done  by  the 
soldiers  during  their  stay, — a  pane  of  glass,  a  truss  of  straw,  the 
tine  of  a  pitchfork.  Hearing  a  commotion  in  the  town  square  he 
looked  out;  the  town  crier  was  announcing  to  the  populace  that 
now  the  Americans  had  gone  the  price  of  wine  would  be  cut  from 
five  francs  a  bottle  to  two.  But  in  part  this  sense  of  grievance  is 
unjustifiable,  for  the  American  has  in  no  small  measure  brought 
this  state  of  affairs  upon  himself.  From  the  start  the  doughboy's 
disgust  with  the  flimsy  paper  bills  and  the  puzzling  tricky  scheme 
of  the  francs,  sous  and  centimes  engendered  a  carelessness  toward 
French  money  which  the  tradespeople  took  as  a  delightful  indi- 
cation of  unlimited  wealth.  "But  everyone  is  rich  in  America!" 
I  have  heard  them  declare  with  childish  conviction.  So  prices  be- 
gan to  rise  and  presently,  with  the  prices,  the  doughboy's  resent- 
ment, and  then  the  poilu's;  for  the  rise  automatically  put  all  lux- 
uries out  of  the  French  soldier's  reach  and  this  of  course  he  in  turn 
blamed  bitterly  on  the  "rich"  American.  Indeed  the  sending  of  a 
large  body  of  men  paid  at  the  rate  of  a  dollar  a  day  into  a  country 
where  the  native  troops  were  paid  at  the  rate  of  five  cents  a  day 
was  a  social-economic  error  which  somehow,  say  by  some  system 
of  reserve  pay  such  as  the  Australians  have,  should  have  been 
avoided. 

Then  too,  the  American  won't  haggle.  The  Frenchman,  as  a  rule, 
won't  buy  unless  he  can.  Prices  are  fixed  with  the  expectation  of  a 
compromise  after  bargaining.  Not  easily  shall  I  forget  a  dramatic 
scene  witnessed  at  the  "Rag  Fair"  at  the  Porte  Maillot  in  Paris  be- 
tween a  prosperous  householder  and  a  "rag"  seller  over  a  second- 
hand padlock.  The  seller  remained  firm  in  demanding  six  cents 
for  the  padlock.  The  householder  was  equally  determined  not  to 
pay  more  than  five.  Finally  the  householder  with  great  dignity 
withdrew,  only  to  be  called  back  by  a  despairing  yelp  from  the 
seller.  He  had  capitulated.  To  the  American  such  a  performance 
seems  both  tedious  and  undignified;  he  either  takes  the  article  at 
the  first  price  asked  or  leaves  it. 


THE  FRENCH  227 

Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  the  doughboy  tends  to  be  a  bit  of  a 
prodigal.  Chief  of  his  spendthrift  weaknesses  are  two;  he  will  pay 
ahnost  any  price  for  sweets,  sink  almost  any  sum  in  a  present  for 
his  girl.  Then  too  the  universal  custom  of  gambling  in  the  army, 
leading  to  swollen  fortunes  for  the  favoured  ones,  has  helped  to 
estabhsh  standards  of  extravagance.  An  oflScer  in  charge  of  a 
company  belonging  to  a  negro  labor  regiment  told  me  of  seeing  two 
of  his  boys  in  a  caf 6  sit  down  to  a  twenty-five  franc  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne and  then,  the  taste  for  some  reason  not  quite  suiting  their 
fancies,  walk  out  leaving  the  bottle  practically  untouched  behind! 

In  the  light  of  such  incidents  as  this,  who  can  blame  the  French 
people  for  regarding  the  American  as  a  sort  of  gift  from  God  benefi- 
cently allowed  them  at  the  time  of  their  greatest  national  im- 
poverishment, for  the  replenishing  of  their  depleted  pocket-books? 

Verdun,  February  20. 

The  little  narrow-gauge  train  pulled  us  in  here  from  Bar-le- 
Duc  at  ten  o'clock  last  night,  a  thirty  mile  run  and  six  hours 
to  make  it!  When  I  asked  for  a  first  class  fare  at  the  station 
I  noticed  an  odd  expression  on  the  ticket-seller's  face.  "They're 
all  the  same,"  he  said;  "all  second  class."  Arrived  at  the  train 
I  understood.  The  coaches  were  filthy  and  furnished  with 
straight-backed  wooden  benches;  a  heap  of  rubbish  surrounded 
the  rickety  stove  in  the  centre.  Shortly  after  we  crawled  out  of 
Bar-le-Duc  it  began  to  rain.  Half  the  windows  were  innocent  of 
glass.  The  rain  beat  in  through  the  empty  sashes.  Presently  it 
grew  dark.  Several  of  the  passengers,  American,  reached  in 
their  pockets  and  brought  out  a  few  grimy  candle-ends.  We 
made  little  grease-spots  on  the  benches  and  stuck  the  candles 
there,  but  the  gusts  of  wind  from  the  empty  windows  kept  blow- 
ing them  out,  so  half  the  time  we  jogged  along  in  darkness. 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  little  old  Frenchman  with  one 
arm.  He  was  returning  to  his  native  village  in  the  devastated 
area  the  other  side  of  Verdun,  after  an  absence  of  four  years. 
With  him  was  his  young  son,  an  immature  lad  of  seventeen. 


228  VERDUN 

"7'at  une  passion,*^  declared  the  old  man  with  startling  fervour; 
*^j^ai  une  passion  veritable  de  revoir  le  village  de  ma  naissancel" 

In  all  probability  he  was  returning  to  nothing  but  a  crumbled 
heap  of  stones. 

"You  are  very  brave,"  I  told  him. 

Ah  but  it  was  for  them,  the  old,  to  set  an  example  for  the  young! 
It  was  they  who  should  lead  the  way!  It  was  they  who  should 
rebuild  France!  His  frail  old  body  fairly  shook  with  the  strength 
of  his  emotion.    What  a  strange,  thrilling,  tragic  pilgrimage! 

Verdun  resembled  nothing  but  a  ruin  mercifully  wrapped  in 
darkness  as  we  passed  through  the  gate  and  made  our  way  up  the 
hill.  We  had  found,  luckily,  a  guide  who  had  a  lantern;  nowhere 
else  in  all  the  city  was  so  much  as  a  gleam  of  light  to  be  seen. 
In  places,  as  we  passed,  the  shells  of  houses  still  stood,  staring 
down  with  empty  eyes  at  us,  in  other  places  there  were  nothing 
but  rubble  mounds  with  here  and  there  a  narrow  jagged  bit  of  wall 
or  a  naked  chimney  standing  out  like  a  lonely  monolith. 

Headquarters  oflSces  are  at  the  Chateau  on  the  summit  of  the 
hill  close  to  the  Cathedral,  one  of  the  few  buildings  left  undamaged 
in  this  part  of  town,  a  rambling,  ungainly,  rather  gloomy  struc- 
ture. The  second  story  consists  almost  entirely  of  a  series  of 
great  empty  barren  loft-like  store-rooms.  In  one  of  these,  known 
as  the  Ladies'  Cold  Storage,  I  have  my  habitation.  Supposed 
to  be  a  sort  of  one-night-stand  dormitory  for  female  tourists, — 
nurses  chiefly, — who  are  touring  the  battle-fields,  the  Ladies* 
Cold  Storage  is  a  large  dusty  garret  with  grimy  rough-plastered 
walls,  without  a  window  or  as  much  as  a  crack  to  let  in  any  light 
or  air  except  for  a  few  small  slits  in  the  roof  where  the  rain  leaks 
in.  A  stove,  a  long  row  of  cots  and  a  tin  basin  on  a  shelf  sur- 
mounted by  a  broken  piece  of  looking-glass  are  its  only  furnish- 
ings. However,  the  L.  C.  S.  boasts  one  luxury,  it  is  equipped  with 
electric  lights.  This  helps — when  the  current  is  turned  on! — 
when  it  isn't,  we  light  a  candle  stub  and  stick  it  in  an  old  milk  can. 
The  electricity  is  generated  underground  in  the  Citadel.  When 
the  Americans  first  came   to  Verdun   some   enterprising   elec- 


THE  FRENCH  229 

tricians  tapped  the  wires  and  had  forty  lights  working  before  the 
French  knew  anything  about  it.  Upon  discovery  the  French  cut  off 
the  Americans,  only  to  find  shortly  afterwards  that  another  connec- 
tion had  been  made.  This  absurd  performance  was  repeated  no 
less  than  seven  times.    After  the  seventh  time  the  French  gave  up. 

We  were  fairly  frightened  out  of  bed  this  morning  by  a  most 
horrible  hubbub, — a  Klaxon  gas-alarm  which  is  used  to  call  the 
guests  to  breakfast.  Having  heard  it  I  am  quite  convinced  that 
if  Gabriel  wishes  to  do  the  job  efficiently  on  the  last  day,  he  will 
scrap  his  trumpet  and  take  a  Klaxon. 

After  breakfast  we  newcomers  hurried  out  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  town.  There  were  plenty  of  others  likewise  occupied  as 
Verdun  is  a  veritable  magnet  for  A.  E.  F.  tourists.  The  Cathedral 
is  closed  to  visitors  but  we  happened  upon  two  French  officers 
who  kindly  took  us  through.  The  roof  is  badly  damaged  and  the 
stained  glass  of  the  windows  shattered  to  bits,  but  beyond  that  the 
Cathedral  is  comparatively  unharmed.  I  was  much  embarrassed 
when  the  officers  informed  me  that  the  sacrSs  pierres,  the  sacred 
stones  from  the  altar,  had  been  stolen  and  presimiably  sent  as 
souvenirs  to  America.  At  first  I  pretended  not  to  understand, 
but  they  took  such  pains  to  explain,  finally  taking  me  to  the 
altar  and  showing  me  where  the  Httle  marble  slabs  had  been  dug 
out,  that  I  finally  had  to  admit  I  understood.  The  two  nurses  who 
were  with  us  were  anxious  to  climb  the  clock-tower,  but  this, 
we  found,  was  strictly  difendu.  All  through  the  war,  we  learned 
afterwards,  the  clock  in  the  tower  had  been  kept  going  by  the 
faithful  verger  who  refused  to  leave  his  post,  and  what's  more, 
it  had  kept  time.  But  a  short  while  ago  the  clock  had  started 
"skipping."  A  party  of  American  boys  had  just  visited  the  tower. 
Upon  investigation  it  proved  that  one  of  the  wheels  was  missing! 
Sometimes  I  think  the  French  are  very  patient  with  us. 

Ever3rwhere  we  went  we  came  upon  German  prisoners  engaged 
in  the  most  leisurely  fashion  in  cleaning  up.  There  are  several 
thousands  of  them  here  and  more  to  come.  Verdun  is  to  rise  from 
her  ruins  and  live  once  more.    Yet  she  can  never  be  in  any  sense 


230  VERDUN 

the  stately  city  that  once  she  was;  for  while  the  business  and 
poorer  portions  of  the  city  below  the  hill  are  not  irreparably 
damaged,  the  finer  part  with  its  stately  mansions  and  exquisite 
specimens  of  mediaeval  architecture  is  wrecked  beyond  repair. 
The  most  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of  making  at  least  some  small 
portions  of  the  city  habitable  at  present  lies  in  the  great  difl&culty 
of  obtaining  window-glass. 

From  the  Cathedral  we  went  to  the  Canteen-in-the-Convent. 
How  the  nuns  would  stare,  I  thought,  if  they  could  see  their 
virgin  precincts  in  possession  of  a  mob  of  boys  in  khaki,  white  and 
black,  interspersed  with  the  blue-coated  poilus!  Across  the  back 
of  the  building  runs  a  wide  terrace,  once  worn  by  pious  feet  of 
patient  sisters  engaged  in  holy  meditations.  Here  among  the 
lounging  boys  stand  life-sized  carved  and  colored  images  of  saints 
and  angels.  Their  size  of  course  prevents  them  from  travel- 
ing to  America  as  souvenirs,  but  even  so  they  must  stand  witness 
to  the  irreverence  of  young  America,  for  the  Angel  Gabriel  is 
hideous  in  a  German  gas-mask! 

After  dinner  we  went  on  a  trip  through  the  Citadel,  that  vast 
underground  soldier-city  with  its  miles  of  corridors  and  rooms  enough 
to  harbor  a  whole  army,  a  little  world  deep  underneath  the  earth. 
We  saw  the  bakery  which  bakes  bread  not  only  for  the  whole  gar- 
rison but  for  all  the  troops  in  the  vicinity;  the  Foyer,  a  writing  and 
recreation  hall,  named  in  honor  of  President  Wilson;  the  movie 
theatre;  and  the  hospital  with  its  wards  and  operating  room, — 
what  a  nightmare  horror  I  thought  to  be  sick  in  those  damp  and 
dimly-lighted  subterranean  caverns!  But  we  were  not  allowed  to 
see  more  than  the  outer  door  of  the  chapel  which  they  say  is  sump- 
tuous, since  it  is  enriched  by  all  the  costly  furnishings  and  precious 
images  moved  there  for  safety's  sake  from  the  Cathedral.  Nor 
were  we  shown  the  underground  caf  6  where,  I  have  been  told,  an 
unusually  good  brand  of  beer  is  sold. 

From  the  Citadel,  rumour  has  it,  tunnels  lead  out  to  the  circle 
of  forts  that  form  the  defences  of  Verdun,  but  if  you  ask  a  French- 
man if  this  is  so,  he  only  looks  wise  and  keeps  mum. 


THE  FRENCH  231 

Verdun,  February  25. 

I  don't  believe  there  is  another  canteen  quite  like  my  canteen 
in  the  whole  of  France.  It  is  a  canteen  for  French  civilians.  The 
one-time  inhabitants  of  Verdun  and  the  devastated  area  beyond 
are  allowed  by  the  government,  it  seems,  just  twenty-four  hours 
in  which  to  visit  their  former  homes,  after  which  they  must  re- 
turn as  there  is  no  food  for  them  here  and  very  little  shelter.  In 
return  for  many  favours  the  French  authorities  asked  the  Y.  to 
co-operate  with  them  in  running  a  sort  of  rest-room  for  these 
refugees;  they  supplying  a  detail,  and  we  supplying  the  materials 
to  make  hot  chocolate  which  is  given  away,  and  a  secretary  to 
take  charge.  The  canteen  is  in  the  College  Buvignier  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill.  There  is  a  dortoir  in  the  building  also,  in  charge  of 
the  man  who  was  once  manager  of  the  principal  hotel  in  the  city; 
two  long  halls  full  of  cots  with  straw  mattresses  where  the  ref- 
ugees may  pass  the  night.  My  assignment  to  this  canteen  is  only 
to  be  temporary. 

The  room  where  my  canteen  is  must  have  once  been  quite  beau- 
tiful, high-ceilinged  with  wainscot  panelling  below  and  embossed 
leather  covering  the  walls  above.  Even  now  in  its  state  of  dingy 
disrepair,  with  half  the  panes  in  the  tall  arched  windows  replaced 
by  dirty  cloth,  it  keeps  something  of  its  old  dignity  and  charm. 
Beyond  the  main  room  is  another  smaller  one,  connected  by  two 
doors,  in  which  the  detail  lives  and  in  which  we  make  our  chocolate. 

When  I  took  over  the  canteen  from  the  man  who  had  been  in 
charge  of  it,  it  was  absolutely  bare  except  for  four  tables  and 
some  backless  wooden  benches.  My  first  act  on  assuming  charge 
was  to  clean  house,  my  second  was  to  persuade  the  detail  to  make 
the  very  watery  chocolate  richer.  After  that  we  proceeded  to 
refurnish  and  adorn.  We  ran  a  frieze  of  war-pictures  in  color, 
taken  from  a  child's  pictorial  Eistoire  de  la  Guerre  around  the 
top  of  the  wainscoting,  hung  French  and  American  flags  from 
the  chandeliers,  teased  the  French  authorities  into  bringing  us 
some  nice  upholstered  armchairs  for  the  old  ladies  to  sit  in,  and, 
finally,  put  a  little  pot  of  primroses  or  snowdrops,  dug  with  a 


232  VERDUN 

broken  tile  from  a  ruined  garden,  in  the  centre  of  each  table. 
Then  a  kind  secretary  bound  for  Bar-le-Duc  was  persuaded  to  go 
shopping  for  us  and  brought  back  an  array  of  French  magazines, 
hand-picked,  and  an  assortment  of  toys  to  amuse  the  kiddies  who 
must  often  wait  here  with  their  families  between  trains,  though 
so  far,  it  must  be  confessed,  it  is  chiefly  the  detail  who  have  been 
amused  by  them.  And  now  I  am  wondering  what  there  is  to  do 
next. 

Besides  the  hot  chocolate,  we  carry  on  a  trade  in  bread,  a  huge 
sackfull  of  which  is  brought  us  fresh  every  day  from  the  under- 
ground bakery  on  the  back  of  a  little  round-faced  poilu;  and  we 
do  a  brisk  business  in  checking  parcels,  without  checks.  Yes- 
terday a  rabbit  was  left  all  day  in  our  care.  I  was  sorry  for  the 
poor  beast  cooped  up  in  the  little  box  and  wanted  to  give  it  a 
drink  of  water,  but  the  poilus  insisted  that  this  would  be  fatal. 
Whether  this  might  possibly  be  a  zoological  fact,  or  is  just  part 
of  the  national  prejudice  against  water,  I  can't  determine. 

At  first,  remembering  my  difficulties  with  the  French  Army 
at  Mauvages,  I  was  a  little  apprehensive  as  to  how  my  two  poilus, 
Emil  and  Guillaume  and  I  might  get  along.  But  though  I  am 
sure  they  think  me  the  oddest  creature  in  the  world,  and  my  pres- 
ence here  imconventional  beyond  words,  yet  their  behaviour 
could  not  possibly  be  more  courteous,  considerate  and  deferential. 
They  won't  even  allow  me  to  wash  the  chocolate  cups. 

"Mademoiselle  will  soil  her  hands!" 

And  they  are  forever  telling  me  that  I  am  working  too  hard. 
"But  Mademoiselle  will  be  fatigued!"  Which  is  so  absurd  as  to 
fairly  exasperate  me. 

Besides  Emil  and  Guillaume  we  have  four  soldier  friends-of- 
the-family,  as  it  were,  who  also  frequent  the  back  room.  The 
canteen  is  supposed  to  be  a  strictly  civilian  affair,  but  we  make  an 
exception  in  favour  of  the  four  camarades,  and  they  repay  us  by 
helping  chop  the  stove-wood  which  is  stacked  in  a  great  pile 
outside  the  door  and  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  stakes  to 
which  were  once  fastened  barbed-wire   entanglements.     Each 


THE  FRENCH  233 

stake  still  bears  two  little  rings  of  wire  around  it  and  every  few 
days  one  has  to  clear  out  the  accumulation  of  barbed-wire  en- 
tanglements from  the  chocolate-stove.  Les  defences  de  Verdun 
the  poilus  call  the  wood-pile.  The  poilus  are  all  artillerymen 
from  a  regiment  of  "7Ss."  Guillaume  has  brought  down  three 
Boche  planes,  he  tells  me,  and  Emil  five.  One  of  the  poilus  is  a 
handsome  brigadier,  or  corporal,  who  wears  wooden  shoes.  I 
said  something  about  sabots  the  other  day.  But  don't  they  wear 
sabots  in  America?  The  poilus  were  astonished  to  learn  that 
wooden  shoes  were  unknown  among  us!  There  is  also  a  sergeant 
who  is  the  aristocrat  of  our  little  circle,  a  dreamy  looking  lad,  a 
student  of  architecture  at  the  Beaux  Arts.  Yesterday  he  shyly 
proffered  me  an  envelope;  in  it  was  a  pretty  pen-and-ink  sketch 
of  two  httle  girls,  one  in  the  costume  of  Alsace,  the  other  of  Lor- 
raine, proffering  bouquets,  and  underneath  was  written,  "Souvenir 
of  a  Frenchman  who  thanks  America  for  having  given  the  victory 
more  quickly."  Our  poilu  friends  are  constantly  straying  into 
the  back  room  in  order  to  read  the  newspapers  here  and  to  get 
a  cup  of  hot  chocolate.  Every  now  and  then  they  all  get  together 
and  hold  a  vin  rouge  tea  party.  On  these  occasions  it  is  evidently 
a  mystery  to  them  why,  though  I  join  them  in  eating  bread  and 
cheese,  I  always  refuse  the  vin  rouge  ! 

The  politeness  of  the  poilus  is  equalled  by  that  of  the  clientele. 
They  are  extraordinarily  grateful  for  what  Httle  we  do  for  them. 
Today  an  old  lady,  in  spite  of  anything  I  could  say,  insisted  on 
tipping  me  with  a  two  franc  piece!  I  spent  it  buying  chocolates 
and  cigarettes  for  the  poilus  at  the  Canteen-in-the-Convent. 
Every  class  of  society  flows  into  my  little  canteen  from  gently 
bred  ladies  under  the  escort  of  immaculate  officers  to  old  men  who 
resemble  nothing  but  the  forlornest  vagabonds.  The  cheerfulness 
and  courage  of  the  refugees  in  general  is  astonishing.  One  would 
think  that  a  room  full  of  people  engaged  in  such  a  mournful 
mission  would  be  a  gloomy  place,  but  on  the  contrary,  although 
occasionally  you  see  a  woman  quietly  sobbing,  at  most  times  we 
fairly  buzz  with  pleasant  sociability.    The  women  come  in  with 


234  .  VERDUN 

faces  bright  with  excitement.  "Oh  the  poor  Cathedral!"  they 
cry. 

"Did  you  find  anything  of  your  home? "  I  ask.  For  a  moment 
the  tears  swim  in  their  brave  eyes.  "Rim/*  they  answer  shaking 
their  heads.    "Nothing!" 

Today  an  old  man  in  a  long  white  apron  smock  was  the  centre 
of  attention  here.  He  was  busy  searching  the  ruins  of  his  house 
for  buried  treasure.  Every  Uttle  while  he  would  come  back  to 
the  canteen  with  the  fruits  of  his  pathetic  salvaging, — a  few  silver 
spoons,  some  paint  brushes,  a  bolt  of  black  velvet  ribbon, — ^place 
them  in  a  basket  and  then  return  to  look  for  more.  Two  German 
prisoners  were  digging  for  him.  Finally  he  came  back  with  six 
unbroken  champagne  glasses  and  a  face  scored  with  tragedy. 
He  had  been  hoping  against  hope  to  recover  the  treasures  in  his 
wine  cellar  but  he  was  too  late,  not  a  bottle  was  there  left! 

Verdxjn,  February  28. 

This  morning  I  went  out  on  a  truck  to  Fort  Douaumont.  This 
is  the  fort  which  was  captured  by  the  Germans,  held  by  them 
for  five  months,  and  then  retaken  by  the  French  and  marks  the 
enemy's  nearest  approach  to  the  city.  Oddly  enough  the  French 
were  the  gainers  through  this  occupation  to  the  extent  of  a  splen- 
did electric  lighting  system  introduced  by  the  Germans  into  the 
fort! 

A  modem  fort  does  not  resemble  in  the  least  the  idea  that  one 
has  of  a  "fort."  Viewed  from  outside  it  is  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  hole  in  the  groimd.  Once  inside  we  had  the  sense  of  being 
in  a  monster  ant-hill  as  we  followed  our  guide  through  a  net-work 
of  tunnelled  corridors.  We  saw  the  room  of  the  Commandant 
with  its  wonderful  relief  maps  both  French  and  German  of  the 
Verdun  hills,  we  saw  the  war-museum,  the  Foyer,  the  store-rooms 
and  engine-rooms,  the  magazine  rooms  where  the  big  shells  were 
stacked  like  cord  wood,  and  we  climbed  up  into  the  turrets  of 
the  disappearing  guns.  In  this  strange  fort  which  has  been  both 
friend  and  enemy  we  looked  through  one  empty  doorway  into  a 


THE  FRENCH  235 

pit  of  ruins  open  to  the  sky,  under  the  wreckage  sixteen  Germans 
lay,  they  said;  it  was  here  that  a  French  shell  had  broken  through. 
We  passed  by  another  door  which  bore  a  sign  on  it  announcing 
that  this  was  the  tomb  of  five  French  mitrailleurs  who  had  been 
killed  by  a  German  shell  in  the  room  within;  instead  of  burying 
the  bodies  they  had  simply  sealed  up  the  door  and  left  them. 
Then  we  ducked  through  a  little  low  door  and  climbed  up  over 
the  hillock  which  forms  the  roof  of  the  fort  as  it  were.  All  about 
us  stretched  the  abomination  of  desolation  of  the  battle-fields, 
wracked  tortured  earth,  seared  and  scarred  into  a  yellow-grey 
desert  waste.  Here  and  there  lay  bones,  human  bones,  some- 
times scattered  loose,  sometimes  gathered  in  a  little  heap  with 
a  rusty  helmet  and  a  broken  rifle  lying  close  beside  them.  Only 
a  few  hundred  feet  from  the  road,  the  man  who  guided  the  party 
told  us,  he  came  yesterday  upon  two  unburied  bodies. 

To  the  north-east  we  could  just  discern  a  large  wooden  cross. 
A  French  ofiicer  who  was  stationed  at  the  fort  pointed  it  out  to 
us.  Here,  he  said,  lay  buried  no  less  than  twelve  hundred  French 
soldiers.  They  had  been  given  a  line  of  trench  to  hold,  the  officers 
were  taken  from  them,  they  were  to  expect  no  reinforcements 
or  relief.  They  were  left  there  knowing  it  was  only  a  question  of 
days  or  hours.  When  the  French  finally  reached  the  line  again 
every  man  was  dead.  So  they  left  them  where  they  lay  and  filled 
the  trench  in  over  them,  but  each  man's  rifle  they  took  and 
planted  upright  in  the  earth  beside  him.  There  is  a  heroic  theme 
for  a  poet! 

When  I  reached  the  canteen  again  I  found  a  ragged  disconsolate 
old  soul  occupying  one  of  the  benches.  On  seeing  me  he  began  a 
sad  recital  of  sore  feet,  ending  with  the  petition  that  I  procure 
him  a  pair  of  rubber  boots  and  emphasizing  the  point  by  taking 
off  his  shoes  then  and  there  and  exhibiting  his  troubles, — ^which 
weren't  pretty, — to  me.  I  was  perplexed,  not  knowing  what  to  do, 
when  the  friendly  M.  P.  on  the  beat  happened  in;  so  I  put  the  case 
up  to  him.  He  told  me  that  there  was  a  salvage  dump  at  the 
station.   We  set  out  together  and  succeeded  in  finding  an  enormous 


236  VERDUN 

pair  of  rubber  overshoes,  and,  what's  more,  in  getting  away  with 
them.  The  old  man  was  pleased  as  Punch,  put  them  on  and  hob- 
bled off  in  them.  Tonight  someone  told  me  a  melancholy  tale.  An 
M.  P.  stationed  upon  the  hiU  had  spied  an  old  Frenchman  going  by 
in  a  pair  of  American  overshoes  and  had  straightway  held  him  up 
and  ordered  him  to  relinquish  what  was  Government  property. 
And  the  old  man  perforce  had  to  sit  down  in  the  street  and  take  off 
his  shoes. 

Speaking  of  boots  reminds  me  of  the  tale  told  me  by  a  doughboy 
the  other  day;  a  tale  of  a  pair  of  tan  shoes,  handsome,  shiny,  new 
tan  shoes  which  was  sold  to  every  man  in  turn  in  his  whole  com- 
pany only  to  be  finally  purchased  as  a  bargain  at  thirty-five  francs 
by  an  unsuspecting  Frenchman.  They  were  beautiful  shoes,  the 
boy  assured  me,  the  only  trouble  was  that  they  both  happened  to 
be  for  the  left  foot. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CONFLANS 

PIONEERS,  M.  P.S  AND  OTHERS 

Jarny,  March  2. 
I  am  living  in  a  hospital.  Being  in  the  occupied  territory, 
the  hospital  has  been  for  the  last  four  years,  of  course,  a  German 
hospital.  Over  the  doorways  are  painted  such  pious  mottoes  as 
*'Gruss  Gottl,''  and  the  theatre,  for  there  is  an  amusement  hall  in 
the  building,  is  adorned  with  a  back-drop  on  which  a  Siegfried- 
esque  hero  overlooks  an  ideal  German  landscape  wherein  a  picture- 
book  castle  perches  on  the  top  of  an  unpossible  mountain.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  hall  is  painted  an  enormous  iron  cross.  The 
masterpiece  of  the  collection,  though,  is  on  the  wall  of  the  basket- 
ball court  and  is,  naturally,  a  portrait  of  His  Late  Imperial  Maj- 
esty, although  one  indentifies  him  rather  by  inference  than  rec- 
ognition, for  the  countenance  having  recently  served  for  a  pistol 
target  is  battered  almost  out  of  human  semblance.  The  main 
part  of  the  hospital  is  occupied  by  the  Y.;  in  the  wings  some  two 
hundred  ordnance  boys  are  quartered;  we  ladies  find  comfortable 
lodging  in  the  operating  room.  There  are  five  of  us  here  at  present, 
two  American  girls,  besides  myself,  and  two  EngHshwomen. 
These  latter  are  ladies  of  high  degree,  I  gather,  being  related  to 
bishops  and  other  such  personages.  They  go  under  the  unvary- 
ing title  of  the  "British  Army,  First  and  Second  Battalions." 
According  to  report  they  were  sent  over  here  from  England  to  do 
propaganda  work,  that  is,  to  create  a  pleasant  impression  on  young 
America  and  thus  help  to  forge  another  Hnk  between  the  two 
nations  etc.,  but  this  they  indignantly  deny.  However  that  may 
be,  the  boys  derive  a  rather  wicked  joy  from  teasing  and  arguing 
with  the  good  ladies,  and  particularly  from  filling  them  full  of 


238  CONFLANS 

amazing  tales  about  "The  States."  Even  the  Secretary  can't 
resist  the  temptation  to  "rag"  them,  and  though  they  are  usually 
very  patient  under  his  plaguing,  today  at  dinner  we  received  a 
shock.  In  response  to  one  of  his  more  daring  sallies,  the  Bishop's 
sister,  fixing  the  Secretary  with  an  icy  eye^  lifted  one  patrician  hand 
to  her  august  nose,  and  thumbed  it!  Which  only  goes  to  show 
that  even  an  English  Lady  of  QuaUty  has  human  moments.  And 
if  we  on  our  side  must  laugh  a  bit  at  them,  it  is  plain  to  see  that 
they,  in  their  turn,  find  us  infinitely  amusing.  In  fact  I  half  sus- 
pect, since  they  spend  hours  every  day  covering  sheets  of  paper 
with  close,  fine  handwriting,  that  the  good  ladies  are  engaged  upon 
writing  a  book  concerning  the  peculiarities  of  their  American 
cousins  when  seen  at  close  range.  And  in  view  of  all  the  wonder- 
ful material  the  boys  have  furnished  them,  that  book  should  make 
rich  reading. 

There  are  three  Y.s  here  in  a  little  triangle  each  a  mile  apart, 
all  under  the  same  management;  Jamy,  Conflans  and  Labry. 
Within  this  triangle,  besides  the  ordnance  detachment,  there  is  a 
regiment  of  engineers,  two  companies  of  pioneer  infantry,  a  tele- 
graph battalion  and  a  detachment  of  negro  labor  troops. 

When  the  Americans  came  here  last  November,  the  town,  they 
tell  us,  was  an  indescribable  mess,  the  roads  choked  with  aban- 
doned military  material  and  fitter  of  all  sorts.  To  the  Americans 
as  usual  fell  the  pleasant  task  of  cleaning  up.  Sometimes  I  think 
that  if  France  doesn't  come  out  of  this  war  as  clean  as  the  classic 
Spotless  Town  it  will  only  be  because  the  Americans  weren't  here 
long  enough.  And  yet,  funnily  enough,  France  being  cleaned  up 
by  America  has  often  provided  a  spectacle  analogous  to  a  little  boy 
having  his  face  washed  against  his  will.  At  Bourmont,  when  the 
Americans  sought  to  make  the  town  sanitary  by  a  liberal  use  of 
disinfectants,  a  frantic  protest  went  up  from  the  inhabitants:  their 
wells,  they  claimed,  had  all  been  ruined!  At  Gondrecourt  the 
Mayor  presented  a  formal  complaint;  the  Americans  were  wearing 
away  the  streets,  he  said,  by  too  much  cleaning!  And  on  the  other 
hand  this  sort  of  work  proves  none  too  pleasant  a  pill  for  American 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  239 

pride  to  swallow.  Today  a  young  New  York  Jew  came  into  the 
canteen.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow  and  in  civilian  life  evidently 
something  of  a  dandy.  He  belonged  to  the  pioneers  and  he  had 
been  engaged  all  day,  I  gathered,  in  following  about  at  the  tail  of  a 
dump  cart,  picking  up  tin  cans  and  rubbish. 

"My  God!"  he  suddenly  burst  out.  "If  my  wife  could  see  me 
now!   My  God!  if  she  could  see  me!" 

One  day  last  fall  going  down  a  street  I  passed  a  boy  who  was 
engaged  in  a  particularly  dirty  sort  of  cleaning.  He  looked  up, 
caught  my  eye,  stood  grinning  sheepishly  at  me  a  moment.  Then 
he  drawled,  half  humourously,  half -bitterly: 

"And  my  mother  thinks  I'm  in  the  trenches!" 

CoNFLANS,  March  10. 

After  so  many  weeks  of  wandering,  I  have  settled  down  to  a 
job  again.  The  last  six  "huts"  in  which  I  have  been  were  in  a  bar- 
racks, a  casino,  a  private  house,  a  convent,  a  college  and  a  hospital. 
This  "hut"  is  in  a  hotel.  The  hotel  is  situated  directly  back  of 
the  Conflans-Jamy  railroad  station.  Before  the  war  the  hotel 
was  a  prosperous  and  pleasant  place,  judgmg  from  the  photograph 
which  Madame  showed  us;  its  windows  filled  with  real  lace  cur- 
tains all  matching!  as  she  pointed  out;  the  broad  terrace  in  front  on 
sunny  days  filled  with  little  tables  and  crowded  with  well-dressed 
people.  Now,  after  four  years  of  German  occupation,  it  is  a  melan- 
choly spectacle;  ragged,  dingy,  half  the  panes  gone  from  the  win- 
dows, its  front  painted  over  with  staring  German  signs.  There  are 
two  entrances,  one  into  the  haU  leading  to  the  rooms  given  over  to 
the  Y.  the  other  into  what  we  call  the  "Annex,"  a  little  caf6  kept  by 
Madame  and  Monsieur,  the  proprietors  of  the  place.  Next  to  our 
red  triangle  sign  stares  a  board  announcing  brazenly  in  red  and 
yellow  Vin  et  Biere;  but  the  irony  of  the  juxtaposition  is  quite  lost 
on  the  French;  indeed  yesterday  Madame  asked  me  if  I  couldn't 
get  her  the  loan  of  a  truck  to  go  to  Nancy  for  a  load  of  beer! 

Madame  and  Monsieur  have  been  here  all  through  the  German 
occupation.    The  Germans  weren't  bad,  Madame  told  me,  if  one 


240  CONFLANS 

were  very  meek  and  never  said  a  word,  but  did  just  exactly  as  they 
said, — she  had  had  some  difficulty  to  be  sure,  reducing  her  more 
temperish  spouse  to  the  proper  attitude  of  meek  submission!— but 
they  had  made  a  clean  sweep  of  everything  of  value;  all  her  linen 
that  she  had  carefully  hidden,  her  copper  utensils,  everything. 

The  Y.  consists  of  a  canteen  room,  a  reading  and  writing  room, 
store-room,  kitchen  and  office.  When  I  first  saw  the  place  it  was 
as  uninviting  as  anything  could  well  be;  dark,  dirty,  ill-smelling, 
the  walls  covered  with  soiled  ragged  paper.  But  now  it  is  very 
nice;  the  dirty  cloth  in  the  window  frames  has  been  replaced  by 
vitex,  the  windows  hung  with  pretty  curtains,  new  electric  Hghts 
have  been  added,  and  best  of  all,  the  walls  entirely  covered  with 
German  camouflage  cloth  and  decorated  with  bright  posters.  This 
camouflage  cloth  is  a  Godsend;  woven  of  finely  twisted  strands  of 
paper,  it  comes  in  three  colors,  a  soft  brown,  a  yellowish  green  and 
a  dark  blue,  resembhng,  when  on  the  walls,  a  loosely  woven  burlap. 
It  was  used  by  the  Germans  to  conceal  and  disguise  military  ob- 
jects and  was  left  here  in  large  quantities  when  they  evacuated. 
The  Americans  hereabouts  use  it  for  every  imaginable  purpose;  for 
covering  unsightly  walls,  for  curtains,  for  officers'  mess  table-cloths. 
Then  there  are  the  ammunition  bags  made  of  paper  cloth  which  the 
boys  use  for  laundry  bags.  "When  in  doubt,  camouflage,"  is  the 
motto.  I  chose  brown  for  my  canteen  and  now  it  is  on  the  walls 
I  feel  that  no  millionaire  could  ask  for  anything  prettier.  Only 
I  wonder;  will  they  ask  me  to  join  the  paper-hangers*  union  when 
I  get  home? 

Besides  running  the  dry  canteen,  we  serve  hot  chocolate  free  every 
night  for  all  comers  here,  filling  up  their  canteens  so  the  boys  can 
take  it  away  with  them,  and  run  a  free  lodging-house.  Every  day  we 
have  boys  coming  into  the  canteen  asking  for  a  bed.  So  after  nine- 
fifteen  we  stack  all  the  chairs  and  tables  at  one  end  of  the  writing- 
room,  and  bring  out  canvas-cots  and  blankets  from  the  store-room 
for  our  lodgers.  There  is  only  one  unfortunate  feature  of  this 
scheme;  the  lodgers  become  so  attached  to  their  blankets  that  they 
are  all  too  apt  to  carry  them  away  with  them  the  next  morning! 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  >4i 

A  man  secretary  and  I  are  to  run  the  hut  together;  a  minister 
in  the  states,  here  he  answers  to  the  unvarying  title  of  "Chief." 
The  "  Chief"  I  find  at  present  chiefly  remarkable  for  his  trousers. 
These  are  garments  with  a  past  apparently  and  a  present  of  such 
a  sort  that  in  the  company  of  ladies  he  is  only  rendered  at  ease 
by  assuming  a  sitting  posture.  If  compelled  to  rise  he  backs  out  of 
your  presence  as  if  you  were  royalty  or  goes  with  the  gesture  of  the 
little  boy  who  has  been  chastised.  Outside  the  house,  no  matter 
how  fine  the  day  may  be,  he  goes  discreetly  clad  in  a  raincoat. 

"I  must,"  declares  the  Chief  at  least  six  times  a  day,  "go  to  Toul 
and  get  a  new  uniform." 

"Amen,"  say  I  under  my  breath. 

Besides  the  outfits  stationed  in  town  there  are  some  twenty  more 
in  the  neighborhood  which  draw  their  rations  here  at  the  railhead 
and  then  there  are  the  leave  trains  on  their  way  to  or  from  Ger- 
many, whose  passing,  Hke  a  visitation  of  locusts,  leaves  the  can- 
teen stripped  and  bare.  The  negro  labor  troops  in  the  vicinity 
supply  quite  a  new  element.  Sometimes  this  takes  the  form  of  a 
bit  of  humour.  Last  night  I  had  drawn  several  cups  of  cocoa 
ahead  of  the  demand  when  a  darky  lad  came  shyly  up  to  the  counter 
and  pointed  to  one.  , 

"Please  ma'am,"  he  asked,  "am  dat  cup  occupied?" 

There  is  one  fat  and  genial  little  darky  who  is  a  constant  cus- 
tomer, always  he  comes  in  munching  a  sandwich  or  an  orange  or 
some  other  edible  bought  from  a  street-vendor. 

"Eating  again,  Jo?"  asked  the  Chief  today. 

"  Why  Boss,"  expostulated  Jo,  "  I  only  eats  one  meal  a  day!  But 
dat,"  he  grinned,  "am  all  de  time!" 

"Shines"  the  boys  invariably  call  them.  , 

Tonight  we  were  amused  to  see  a  negro  corporal,  who,  not  con- 
tent with  the  chevrons  on  his  sleeve,  had  sewed  an  additional  pair 
on  his  overseas  cap! 

CoNFLANS,  March  14. 

My  family  at  the  hut  consists  of  the  Chief,  Harry,  Jerry  and 
Slim.   Harry  and  Jerry  are  as  nice  lads  as  one  could  find  anywhere, 


442  CONFLANS 

but  Slim  is  the  bird  that  hatched  out  of  the  cuckoo's  egg.  Lean, 
uncouth,  according  to  his  own  claim,  "the  tallest  man  that  Uncle 
Sam's  got  in  his  army,"  with  an  inordinately  long  neck  and  an 
Adam's  apple  so  prominent  as  to  give  him  the  appearance  of  an 
ostrich  in  the  act  of  swallowing  a  perpetual  orange,  "Slim  Old 
Horse"  as  the  boys  call  him,  seems  to  me  at  times  more  like  an  ani- 
mated caricature  of  the  middle  west  "Long  Boy"  than  a  being  of 
flesh  and  blood  and  bone.  How  he  ever  became  attached  to  the  Y. 
is  a  point  on  which  nobody  seems  certain,  but  here  he  is  and  here  he 
sticks  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  dislodge  him.  I  fancy  his  "Top 
Kick"  was  only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  him  and  when  he  discovered 
Slim's  incUnation  toward  the  Y.  simply  let  him  go  and  washed  his 
hands  of  him.  Slim's  health  is  uncertain.  Most  of  the  time  he 
only  feels  well  enough  to  sit  in  the  office  and  eat  or  "chaw." 

"I  started  in  ter  chaw  terbaccer," — he  talks  with  a  nasal  twang 
which  is  impossible  to  reproduce, — "when  I  was  a  kid  four  years 
old;  when  my  daddy  an'  my  mammy  found  it  out,  they  sure  did 
start  ter  raise  hell  with  me,  but  I  says  to  'em;  *A11  right,  have  it 
your  way,  but  then  it  will  be  whisky  and  rum  fer  mine,  when  I'm 
twenty-one!'  So  my  mammy  says  'Let  'im  chaw.'  An'  I've 
chawed  ever  sence." 

"I've  only  got  one  lung,"  he  remarked  the  other  day,  "and  that's 
a  Httle  one." 

"Slim,"  I  urged,  "I'm  worried  about  you.  You  oughtn't  to  be 
here.  You  ought  to  be  in  the  hospital  where  you  could  be  properly 
cared  for.  Go  to  your  medical  officer  and  tell  him  from  me  that 
he  must  send  you  to  the  hospital." 

Slim  reluctantly  departed.  I  dared  to  hope  we  had  seen  the  last 
of  him.  But  before  the  afternoon  was  over  he  was  back  on  his 
old  perch.  He  had  brought  some  little  pills  back  with  him.  Just 
wait,  I  thought,  until  I  meet  that  medical  officer! 

Slim  seldom  feels  attracted  to  the  meals  at  the  mess-hall.  So 
he  sits  in  the  office  and  Hves  chiefly  upon  cheese,  Y.  M.  C.  A.  cheese 
purchased  to  make  sandwiches  for  the  canteen  at  a  cost  of  a  dol- 
lar and  a  quarter  a  pound.    Sometimes  he  fries  himself  eggs,  tak- 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  243 

ing  whatever  mess-kit,  Harry's  or  Jerry's  or  mine,  happens  to  be 
handy  and  never,  in  spite  of  anything  I  can  say,  will  he  wash  it  up 
after  him!  Sometimes  Harry  and  Jerry  and  I  decide  that  instead 
of  going  to  mess  we  would  like  to  have  a  supper-party  at  the  can- 
teen ourselves,  and  then  the  question  is,  how  to  get  rid  of  Slim? 

"Slim,  it's  getting  near  chow-time,"  we  say,  "I'll  bet  they're 
going  to  have  mashed  potatoes  and  brown  gravy  tonight.  Isn't 
that '  Soupy'  I  hear  going  now?  " 

But  Slim  refuses  to  budge  any  more  than  a  bump  on  a  log,  so 
we  usually  have  to  end  by  inviting  him.  But  if  I  find  SHm  a  bur- 
den, how  must  the  Chief  feel  toward  him?  For  Slim  has  appro- 
priated the  extra  cot  in  the  office,  which  also  serves  as  the  Chief's 
bed-room,  and  so  has  fairly  camped  down  on  him.  And  the  Chief 
is  a  gentleman  of  nerves  and  delicate  perceptions. 

"He  gets  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,"  confided  the  Chief 
to  me  today  in  an  almost  awe-struck  voice,  "and  he  goes  for  the 
water-bucket  and  drinks  a  half  a  pail  without  stopping.  He 
makes  a  noise  just  like  a  horse  swallowing  it." 

I  have  given  up  trying  to  do  anything  with  Slim.  Nothing 
that  I  can  say  seems  to  make  the  least  impression  on  him.  Slim 
is  a  married  man,  yet  yesterday  I  caught  him  embracing  Louise, 
Madame's  cross-eyed  maid  of  all  work,  in  the  passage-way.  I 
undertook  to  reprove  him. 

'Why  that  ain't  nawthin!"  he  turned  a  blameless  and  unabashed 
eye  upon  me.    "That's  jest  a  man's  nature." 

This  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  eaten  regularly  from  a  mess- 
kit  and  I  am  learning  things.  I  have  learned  that  the  aluminum 
mess-cup  draws  the  heat  from  the  hot  coffee  so  that  it  is  impossible 
to  drink  out  of  one  until  the  liquid  has  become  half-way  cold, 
and  that  it  is  most  unappetizing  to  have  to  wash  one's  mess-kit 
afterwards  in  a  pail  of  greasy  soap  suds  in  which  a  hundred  odd 
other  mess-kits  have  already  been  bathed.  I  used  to  tease  the 
boys  with  their  mess-cups  in  the  chocolate  line  by  telling  them 
that  I  could  tell  just  how  recently  they  had  had  inspection  by 
the  shine  on  their  mess-cups,  but  now  whenever  I  look  at  the 


344  CONFLANS 

state  of  my  own  cup  I  think  I  won't  have  the  face  to  ever  tease 
them  that  way  again!  I  have  also  learned  that  cold  "gold  fish" 
or  "sewer  carp,"  as  the  boys  call  their  canned  salmon,  is  just  as 
bad  as  they  say  it  is,  and  that  slum  made  of  hunks  of  bacon, 
potatoes,  onions  and  unlimited  water  is  no  easy  thing  to  swallow. 
But  this  sounds  ungrateful  and  I  don't  mean  to  be,  for  the  cooks  are 
nice  as  can  be  and  never  say  a  word  no  matter  how  late  I  may  be. 
While  as  for  the  boys,  they  put  on  all  their  company  manners  for  me. 

Here  at  the  hut  we  are  busy  building  an  addition  in  order  to 
enlarge  our  restaurant  business.  This  is  in  the  shape  of  a  room 
on  the  terrace.  The  Germans  had  kindly  built  a  roof  over  one 
end,  a  detail  from  the  ordnance  detachment  at  Jarny  is  enclosing 
the  sides;  we  are  to  have  three  real  glass  windows  looking  out  onto 
the  street  and  a  door  connecting  the  terrace-room  with  the  present 
canteen.  This  afternoon  the  detail  ran  out  of  lumber;  the  Chief 
managed  to  get  the  loan  of  a  truck  to  fetch  some  more.  He  asked 
Slim  to  go  with  the  truck.  The  afternoon  wore  away,  neither 
Slim  nor  the  truck  appeared,  the  detail,  disgusted,  sat  and  twiddled 
their  thumbs.  Nobody  could  understand  what  had  happened 
as  the  lumber  yard  was  just  around  the  corner!  Jerry  went  out 
to  search.  There  was  no  trace  of  Slim  or  the  truck  to  be  found. 
About  five  o'clock  he  turned  up.  He  had  gone  to  Mars-la-Tour 
he  told  us  coolly.  We  had  been  talking  of  going  to  the  commissary 
at  Mars-la-Tour  for  canteen  supplies,  and  that  great  goose  had 
gotten  into  his  head  that  the  lumber  was  to  be  obtained  there! 
At  least  that  is  his  explanation.  But  Harry  and  Jerry  insinuate 
darker  things: 

*We  didn't  know  you  had  a  girl  in  Mars-la-Tour  before,"  they 
tease.    "Oh  Slim,  you  old  devil,  you!" 

I  wonder  now,  just  what  was  he  up  to  in  Mars-la-Tour  all  after- 
noon? 

CoNFLANS,  March  19. 
Why  is  it  that  all  the  world  loves  a  rascal?    What  is  the  secret 
of  the  fascination  that  outlaw  and  free-booter  have  exercised 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  245 

from  Robin  Hood  down  to  Captain  Kidd?  Is  it  because  each 
one  of  us,  in  our  secret  hearts,  would  like  to  go  and  do  likewise, 
if  we  only  dared?  Of  all  the  minor  piracies  committed  by  the 
A.  E.  F.  in  France,  none,  I  think,  are  so  picturesque  as  those  of 
the  —  Engineers. 

The  —  Engineers  are  a  railroad  regiment.  My  first  acquaint- 
ance with  them  was  last  summer.  A  company  of  these  engineers 
was  located  at  a  station  on  the  Paris  line  just  north  of  us.  It 
was  a  point  at  which  supplies  for  the  American  front  were  trans- 
ferred from  the  standard  gauge  to  the  American  narrow  gauge; 
in  order  to  effect  these  transfers  the  —  Engineers  had  a  switch 
of  their  own.  Now  freight  trains  in  France  are  quite  unguarded 
and  so  at  the  mercy  of  marauders.  Indeed  the  losses  in  transit 
have  been  so  serious  that  since  the  armistice  it  has  been  the  custom 
to  have  cars  containing  American  goods  "convoyed"  to  their 
destination  by  soldier  guards.  Last  summer  of  course  the 
men  could  not  be  spared  for  convoy  duty.  So  it  was  the  eas- 
iest thing  in  the  world  for  the  —  Engineers  to  "cut  out"  a  Y. 
or  a  Red  Cross  car,  side-track  it,  and  lighten  the  load  at  their  lei- 
sure. 

"I  went  through  their  company  store-house  while  I  was  there," 
a  Q.  M.  sergeant  told  me,  "and  it  was  as  well  stocked  with  deli- 
cacies as  the  store-rooms  of  a  big  hotel  back  in  the  States." 

No  wonder  there  was  such  a  dearth  of  supplies  at  Abainville 
last  summer! 

But  it  was  after  the  —  Engineers  moved  into  the  occupied 
area  here  following  the  armistice  that  they  performed  their  most 
notorious  exploits.  Assigned  to  run  a  stretch  of  railway  in  co- 
operation with  the  French,  a  certain  amount  of  friction  was 
inevitable  from  the  start,  the  red  tape  in  the  French  railway 
system  exasperating  the  Americans  as  much  as  our  more  direct 
methods  scandalized  the  French.  Finally  the  French  protests 
at  the  Americans*  disregard  for  the  formalities  of  railroading 
moved  the  engineer  officers  to  stricter  discipline.  "I'll  hang  the 
next  man  of  you  who  runs  a  train  out  of  the  yards  without  a  pilot!" 


246  CONFLANS 

declared  one  captain.    After  that  things  went  more  smoothly, — 
on  the  surface.   Then  came  the  Dance. 

Now  imfortunately  for  the  —  Engineers  there  is  an  extra 
large  M.  P.  force  here  at  Conflans  imder  a  Major  whose  greatest 
delight  in  life  is  the  detection  and  pimishment  of  both  major  and 
minor  infractions  of  the  law. 

The  Dance  was  quite  an  affair  over  which  the  —  Engineers 
had  spread  themselves  and  to  which  the  French  fair  sex  was 
generally  invited.  When  the  party  was  about  to  begin,  however, 
it  became  evident  that  the  feminine  partners  afforded  locally  were 
all  too  few.  Some  bold  soul  had  a  bright  idea;  a  train-crew  forth- 
with hurried  down  to  the  yards,  commandeered  an  engine  and  a 
couple  of  cars,  and,  in  spite  of  the  horrified  protests  of  the  French 
railroad  men,  ran  it  to  a  nearby  town.  Here  they  filled  up  the 
train  with  girls  from  the  village  and  were  about  to  start  back 
again  when  a  detachment  of  M.  P.s,  rushed  up  in  autos  from 
Conflans,  broke  in  upon  the  scene.  A  sanguine  scrimmage  en- 
sued, resulting  in  a  victory  for  law  and  order. 

In  the  meanwhile,  back  at  the  dance  hall  the  engineers  were 
waiting  in  impatient  expectation  for  partners.  Among  the  in- 
vited guests  were  two  friendly  M.  P.s,  old  soldiers,  with  genial  dis- 
positions and  several  wound  stripes  to  their  credit.  When  word 
reached  the  party  that  the  M.  P.s  had  prevented  the  arrival  of  the 
** Mademoiselles"  the  engineers  were  furious.  "Kill  the  M.  P.s!" 
went  up  the  cry.  Catching  sight  of  the  red-arm  bands  on  their 
two  innocent  guests  the  crowd  started  for  them  with  the  evident 
intention  of  making  a  beginning  then  and  there.  Heaven  only 
knows  what  would  have  happened  if  the  two  M.  P.s,  by  affecting 
an  exit  at  the  double-quick,  hadn't  immediately  made  their  escape, 
unharmed  but  badly  scared. 

The  most  notable  exploit  of  the  —  Engineers  occurred  not 
long  afterwards.  It  is  referred  to  as  the  Affair  of  the  Serge  Uni- 
forms. One  fine  day,  not  very  long  ago,  it  was  noised  abroad  that 
a  car  full  of  tailored  serge  uniforms,  consigned  to  and  paid  for  by 
officers  of  the  Army  of  Occupation  in  Luxembourg,  was  standing 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  247 

down  in  the  yards.  The  idea  of  going  home  in  an  officer's  serge 
uniform  from  which,  of  course,  the  braid  on  the  cuffs  had  been 
discreetly  ripped,  made  a  strong  appeal  to  the  boys'  imaginations. 
When  the  time  came  for  that  car  to  be  sent  to  Luxembourg 
it  was  found  to  be  quite  empty.  But  for  once  the  Engineers 
had  gone  too  far.  The  M.  P.  Major  took  the  war-path.  Word 
flew  around  the  camp  that  a  strict  search  was  being  conducted. 
The  possessors  of  the  incriminating  uniforms  must  get  rid  of 
them  and  get  rid  of  them  quick.  Some  hid  them  in  out-of-the-way 
places,  between  the  floors  and  ceilings  in  the  half-ruined  houses; 
others  frantically  ripped  the  uniforms  to  pieces  and  burned  them 
in  the  barracks  stoves.  The  camp,  they  tell  me,  was  full  of  the 
stench  of  scorching  woolen.  Still  others  got  rid  of  them  by  plant- 
ing them  among  the  possessions  of  their  innocent  neighbors.  One 
company  postal  clerk,  a  most  upright  and  blameless  lad,  to  his 
horror  discovered  one  of  the  fatal  uniforms  stuffed  in  a  mail-bag 
lying  at  his  feet.  Before  the  search  party  had  made  its  rounds 
most  of  those  serge  uniforms  had  been  safely  disposed  of;  a  few,  a 
very  few  were  found. 

But  now,  having  been  baulked  in  his  attempt  to  bring  the 
culprits  to  justice,  it  is  common  rumour,  that  the  M.  P.  Major 
is  lying  low,  waiting  to  "fix'*  the  —  Engineers.  ' 

CoNFLANS,  March  23. 
The  —  Engineers  have  left.  They  are  on  their  way  to  Le 
Mans,  presumably  the  first  stage  of  their  journey  home.  Their 
departure  was  not  unmarked  by  incident."  At  the  last  moment, 
when  they  had  all  entrained  and  were  ready  to  pull  out  of  the  sta- 
tion, the  M.  P.  Major  sallied  forth,  court-martials  in  his  eye,  to 
search  the  trains  for  contraband.  But  he  had  reckoned  without 
the  Colonel  of  the  engineers  who  flatly  refused  to  allow  any  such 
procedure.  Being  outranked  by  the  Colonel,  the  M.  P.  Major 
was  seemingly  helpless.  Then,  however,  the  Colonel  made  a  bad 
mistake.  There  were  two  train  loads.  The  Colonel  left  with  the 
first.    The  second,  being  left  without  any  protector  of  sufficiently 


248  CONFLANS 

high  rank,  fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  Major.  He  searched  to  his 
heart's  content,  discovering  several  articles  of  unlawful  loot  and, 
one  unfortunate  clad  in  one  of  the  notorious  serge  uniforms!  The 
train  was  held  in  the  yards  while  the  M.  P.  Major  indulged  in  an 
orgy  of  court-martials. 

On  the  morning  of  the  departure  the  captain  of  the  motor 
unit  where  we  had  messed  stopped  in  to  speak  to  me.  He  came  by 
request  of  the  boys  to  bring  an  apology  for  any  careless  language 
which  might  have  been  uttered  unwittingly  in  my  hearing!  Then 
the  captain  of  another  imit  called  to  tell  us,  sub  rosa,  that,  forced 
by  shortage  of  transportation,  he  was  leaving  behind  an  over 
supply  of  rations  which  would  be  ours  for  the  fetching.  We 
fetched  accordingly  and  found  that  we  had  fallen  heir  to  dozens  of 
loaves  of  bread,  sugar,  coffee,  canned  meat,  canned  tomatoes, 
hard  bread,  soap  and  unlimited  beans.  What  to  do  with  these 
surreptitious  stores  is  now  the  embarrassing  question.  One  simply 
can't  offer  the  boys  hard  bread,  tomatoes  plain  or  scalloped,  in  the 
canteen,  no  matter  if  one  should  dress  them  with  all  the  sauces  of 
Epicurus  and  serve  them  on  gold-plate.  Yet  they  mustn't  be 
wasted.  What's  more,  the  fact  that  they  are  in  our  possession 
must  be  kept  absolutely  dark,  lest  we  get  the  kind  captain  into 
trouble.  I  feel  something  like  the  man  who  was  presented  with  a 
million  dollar  check  and  then  found  he  couldn't  cash  it. 

With  the  —  Engineers  went  Harry,  Jerry,  and  Slim.  I  couldn't 
believe  until  the  last  moment  that  Slim  was  actually  going.  His 
departure  almost  compensated  for  the  loss  of  Harry  and  Jerry. 
But  though  gone,  he  is  not  forgotten.  This  morning  a  lad  came 
into  the  canteen.  He  would  like  his  watch  please,  he  said.  I 
looked  blankly  at  him.  He  explained;  several  days  ago,  just  as  he 
was  leaving  on  a  long  truck-trip,  he  had  broken  the  strap  of  his 
wrist  watch.  Happening  to  be  in  front  of  the  Y.  just  then,  he  had 
brought  it  in  and  left  it  for  safe-keeping  "with  the  Y.  man  in  the 
office."    The  Chief  knew  nothing  of  it. 

"What  did  the  Y.  man  look  like?"  I  questioned. 

He  described  him.    It  was  Slim.    We  have  searched  every  nook 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  249 

and  cranny  of  that  office,  hoping  to  come  upon  the  missing  watch, 
in  vain. 

"I'll  come  in  again,"  said  the  boy.  "Perhaps  by  that  time  you 
will  have  found  it." 

But  personally  I  am  sure  that  that  watch  is  now  on  its  way 
to  Le  Mans,  en  route  for  the  States.  Was  there  ever  anything 
more  wretchedly  embarrassing? 

CoNFLANS,  March  27. 

This  is  a  curious  world.  Six  "Relief  Trains"  pass  through 
here  every  day  bound  east,  loaded  with  food  for  Germany.  Mean- 
while in  the  little  half-ruined  hamlets  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
the  tracks  the  French  villagers,  for  whom  no  provision  has  been 
made,  are  famine-stricken. 

Lieutenant  A.  came  in  from  the  little  town  of  Pierrefond  which 
lies  between  Conflans  and  Verdun  yesterday. 

"They  have  nothing  to  eat  there,"  he  told  me,  "but  the  weeds 
they  dig  up  in  the  fields  for  sdade  and  the  frogs  they  catch  in 
the  marshes.  When  the  days  are  cold  the  frogs  bury  themselves  so 
deep  in  the  mud  that  they  can't  be  caught.  There  is  one  old 
gentleman  who  told  me  today  that  he  had  existed  for  weeks  en- 
tirely on  a  diet  of  turnips.  They  come  to  me  and  beg  pitifully 
for  a  bite  of  something  from  the  mess-kitchen,  but  I  don't  dare 
let  them  have  it,  as  that  would  be,  of  course,  strictly  against  regu- 
lations." 

I  thought  of  those  bushels  of  beans  in  the  store-house.  It 
was  taking  a  chance  of  course,  because  after  all  it  was  government 
property  and  nothing  else,  but  I  told  the  Lieutenant  that  if  he 
was  willing  to  run  the  risk,  I  was;  then  I  put  it  up  to  the  Chief. 

This  morning  the  Lieutenant  came  in  with  a  flivver.  We  drove 
over  to  the  store-house  and  loaded  it  up  with  army  beans,  issue 
coffee,  sugar,  rice,  onions,  potatoes  and  soap.  Then  we  filled  a 
special  sack  with  canned  soup,  "gold  fish,"  corn  meal,  canned 
tomatoes  and  corn  syrup  for  the  old  gentleman  who  had  lived  on 
turnips.    I  felt  he  had  a  special  claim  on  our  S3anpathy. 


2SO  CONFLANS 

We  reached  Pierrefond  after  a  long  drive  in  a  stinging  rain. 
It  was  a  quaint  pathetic  village  with  a  pretty  little  church  whose 
tower  had  been  sliced  off  as  neatly  as  by  a  knife.  Was  it  a  German 
or  a  French  shell  which  had  done  it,  I  wondered.  We  drew  up 
in  front  of  the  Mayor's  house.  He  came  out  to  greet  us,  showed  me 
a  list  of  the  seventy- three  inhabitants  of  the  town;  men,  women 
and  infants  in  arms.  All  the  suppUes  were  to  be  duly  weighed  and 
measured  and  distributed,  so  much  per  capita.  While  they  were 
unloading  the  flivver  we  stopped  in  at  Madame  C.'s  for  coffee  and 
compliments,  and  to  dry  out  by  her  hospitable  fire.  Everyone 
made  pretty  speeches,  of  course,  and  Madame  bestowed  on  me  a 
delectable  bouquet  of  wall-flowers  and  daffodils.  Poor  things! 
It's  little  enough  one  can  do  for  them.  This  will  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door  for  a  short  while  perhaps,  but  after  that,  what  then? 

Pierrefond,  like  Conflans,  was  occupied  by  the  Germans  for 
four  years.  Now  there  is  a  young  half-German  population  grow- 
ing up,  even  as  many  as  three  to  one  family.  The  villagers  accept 
the  situation  with  tolerant  hmnour;  "Souvenirs  Boches,"  they  call 
the  children. 

As  for  the  rest  of  the  rations,  I  made  jam  sandwiches  with  the 
bread  and  bestowed  them  together  with  hot  chocolate  on  a  hungry 
leave  train.  What  to  do  with  the  "Charlie  Horse,"  as  the  boys 
call  the  canned  roast  beef,  was  a  puzzle.  Finally  I  made  a  paste 
of  it  mixed  with  bread  crumbs,  tomato  soup,  a  few  weenies  and 
some  ham  scraps,  pickles,  parsley,  onion  and  an  egg, — ^we  had  six 
assistants  in  the  kitchen  and  each  added  an  ingredient, — put  it 
between  slices  of  bread  and  christened  the  result  "Liberty  Sand- 
wiches. Guaranteed  to  contain  neither  Gold  Fish  nor  Corn  Willy." 
The  boys  ate  and  wondered  and  came  back  for  more. 

Conflans,  March  30. 

In  our  back  yard  a  detail  of  German  prisoners  is  busy  cleaning 

up;  already  they  have  made  quite  a  transformation.     Madame 

must  have  a  garden.    I  wonder,  as  I  watch  them,  what  their  state 

of  mind  may  be;  their  phlegmatic  faces  give  no  hint.   Did  some  of 


PIONEERS,  M.P,S  AND  OTHERS  251 

these  very  ones,  perhaps,  make  merry  in  this  seK  same  caf  6,  only 
six  months  ago,  when  they  were  conquerors? 

Madame  tells  me  how,  when  the  German  officers  were  living  here 
at  the  hotel,  they  ate  off  priceless  old  French  plates,  which,  appar- 
ently quite  ignorant  of  their  value,  they  had  carried  off  as  loot. 
Madame,  coveting  these  treasures,  tried  to  arrange  an  exchange  with 
the  mess  orderly,  offering  a  number  of  modern  dishes  in  return  for 
one  antique;  but  the  mess  orderly,  fearing  that  some  officer  might 
notice  the  substitution,  hesitated  and  before  they  could  come  to 
an  agreement  the  precious  plates,  with  the  rough  handling  ac- 
corded them,  had  all  been  broken  to  bits. 

Some  of  the  boys  seem  to  think  that  the  French  don't  give  their 
prisoners  enough  to  eat.  The  Germans,  they  say,  when  they  get 
the  chance,  will  wait  outside  the  mess-hall  door  and  seize  eagerly 
the  leavings  in  the  mess-kits  that  the  boys  are  about  to  throw  away. 

"Maybe  it's  just  because  they're  greedy,"  I  say.  "Surely  they 
look  fat  enough!"  And  then  a  picture  comes  back  to  my  mind, 
the  picture  of  a  Red  Cross  train  seen  while  waiting  at  Pagny  on  my 
way  to  Paris  last  January,  a  train  full  of  French  prisoners  who  were 
being  brought  back  from  Germany,  so  weak  from  starvation  that 
they  lay  on  stretchers  or  sat  pressing  against  the  windows  faces  as 
wan  and  white  as  spectres. 

The  German  prisoners,  according  to  the  boys'  repeated  stories, 
are  by  no  means  a  humble  or  repentant  lot.  They're  not  beaten 
for  good,  the  prisoners  invariably  declare.  Just  as  soon  as  the 
Americans  have  gone  and  things  have  cahned  down  a  bit,  they  are 
coming  back  to  France  again,  they  say,  and  this  time  they  will 
settle  matters  with  the  French  for  good  and  all! 

Last  night  a  train  load  of  German  prisoners  in  box  cars  pulled  into 
town.  When  the  doors  of  the  cars  were  opened  it  was  found  that  one 
of  the  prisoners  had  died  on  the  way.  The  dead  man  was  wrapped  in 
a  blanket  and  left  lying  on  the  freight  station  platform.  A  '*  shine" 
from  the  labor  battalion  happened  along  in  the  dark,  tripped  and 
f eU  flat  over  the  body.  He  came  into  the  canteen  in  a  state  of 
nerves,  quite  prepared,  evidently,  to  see  a  ghost  in  every  comer. 


252  CONFLANS 

CoNFLANS,  April  2. 

The  latest  member  of  our  household  is  something  quite  new  in 
the  way  of  detsiils.  He  is  a  Salvation  Army  man  and  a  very  nice 
fellow  indeed.  A  year  or  so  ago  he  was  beating  a  big  drum  in  front 
of  Gimbel's  Store;  then  he  was  drafted  to  come  to  France  with  the 
pioneers;  now  he  has  applied  for  a  discharge  in  order  to  join  his 
organization  over  here;  and  while  waiting  for  his  release  he  is  prov- 
ing himself  an  invaluable  aid  in  the  canteen.  Now  more  than  ever, 
since  The  Salvation  Army,  as  everybody  calls  him,  has  joined  our 
force,  I  have  been  longing  to  realize  a  dream  which  I  have  cherished 
ever  since  I  came  to  France, — to  make  doughnuts  for  the  A.  E.  F. 
I  have  the  recipe,  I  can  get  the  materials,  the  stove  is  the  sticking- 
point.  At  present  our  cooking  equipment  consists  of  a  hot  water 
boiler  and  a  wretched  German  range  which  is  really  fit  for  nothing 
but  the  scrap-heap.  As  the  boys  say,  I  have  lost  more  religion  than 
I  ever  thought  I  had  over  that  stove!  So  while  we  hope  and  hunt 
for  a  doughnut-stove  we  are  specializing  in  sandwiches  and  pud- 
dings. The  puddings  are  my  special  pride  as  I  worked  out  the 
ideas  for  them  myself  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  they  are  served  in  no 
other  canteen.  There  are  four  of  them;  Coffee  Jelly,  Raspberry 
Jelly  (made  with  the  "pink-lemonade"  fruit  juice)  Chocolate  Bread 
Pudding,  and  Blackberry  Bread  Pudding.  The  bread-puddings  are 
baked  for  us,  by  kindness  of  the  cooks,  at  a  nearby  mess-kitchen. 
The  only  trouble  with  the  puddings  is,  that  there  never  is  enough  I 
But  lest  anyone  should  think  that  I  take  this  as  a  compliment  to  my 
culinary  skill,  I  must  explain  that  the  boys  would  eat  anything  you 
offered  them,  I  believe,  just  as  long  as  it  was  sweet  and  was  a  change. 
And  then  there  is  perhaps  a  quaint  psychological  factor  too. 

"A  man  don't  like  to  eat  food  that's  cooked  by  a  man,"  a  lad 
confided  to  me  the  other  day.  "Anything  that's  cooked  by  a 
woman  tastes  better." 

So  if  a  boy  does  leave  any  scraps  of  pudding  on  his  plate  it  bothers 
me  unreasonably. 

"Somebody  didn't  like  his  pudding,"  I  remark  mournfully  to 
the  S.  A.  as  I  pick  up  the  dishes.    This  amuses  him.    Last  night 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  253 

as  we  were  clearing  up  before  we  closed  he  marched  up  to  the 
counter,  deposited  a  tiny  wad  found  on  one  of  the  tables  in  front 
of  me. 

*' Somebody,"  he  declared  in  a  tragic  tone,  "didn't  like  his  chew- 
ing-gum!" 

Nor  can  I  boast,  as  a  cook,  of  a  record  of  unvarying  success.  On 
more  than  one  occasion  I  must  admit  to  having  scorched  the  cocoa, 
and  once,  not  many  days  ago — to  my  shame  be  it  said! — I  ruined 
a  ten  gallon  can  by  putting  in  salt  instead  of  sugar! 

Here  at  Conflans  we  have  an  unusual  amount  of  competition  in 
the  light  lunch  line.  The  other  day  a  French  fried  potato  booth, 
like  a  hot-dog  booth  at  a  country  fair  at  home,  estabhshed  itself 
on  the  terrace  just  outside  our  door.  Now  a  hungry  doughboy  can 
take  the  edge  off  his  appetite  with  a  paper  full  of  hot  French  fries 
in  return  for  a  franc  at  any  hour  of  the  day. 

Also  in  the  street  below  the  terrace  are  many  little  stands  where 
oranges  and  sandwiches  made  of  rolls  and  sHces  of  sausage  are  on 
sale.  The  rivalry  between  these  stands,  it  appears,  is  acute.  Yes- 
terday, hearing  a  hubbub,  I  looked  out  to  see  a  comic  battle  in 
progress,  the  proprietors  of  two  neighboring  stands,  a  fat  frowsy 
old  woman  and  a  little  ragged  man  like  a  weasel,  pelting  each  other 
for  all  they  were  worth  with  rotten  oranges  while  half  the  A.  E.  F., 
it  seemed,  stood  around  and  cheered.  Nor  did  matters  settle  down 
to  cahn  until  a  gendarme  and  intervention  appeared  on  the  scene. 

This  morning  I  stopped  in  at  the  Uttle  French  store  around  the 
comer  to  buy  half  a  dozen  eggs  to  make  a  custard  sauce  for  my 
chocolate  bread  pudding.  When  the  man  gave  me  my  change  I 
noticed  he  had  overcharged  me  by  twenty-five  centimes. 

"Why's  that?  "I  asked. 

"That,"  returned  the  shop-keeper,  "is  because  you  picked  them 
out  by  hand." 

Some  canteen  ladies  can  cook  and  wait  on  the  counter  and  open 
milk-cans  and  wash  the  chocolate  cups  and  yet  keep  spotlessly  and 
specklessly  clean.  But  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  as  long 
as  I  live  in  Conflans,  with  its  air  full  of  smoke  and  soot  from  the 


254  CONFLANS 

train  yards,  and  its  water  so  hard  that  it  curdles  the  soap, — and 
sometimes  the  milk  in  the  cocoa  too,  that  I  will  have  to  content 
myself  with  being  godly  and  leave  the  cleanliness  till  a  happier  day. 
We  have  been  having  a  regular  plague  of  inspectors  and  investi- 
gators of  late.  Last  night  just  as  I  had  my  final  bout  with  the  last 
chocolate  container,  a  major  and  a  lieutenant  colonel  wandered 
in,  evidently  in  search  of  scandal.  The  lieutenant  colonel  fixed 
a  piercing  eye  on  me. 

"So  you  are  the  only  'white  woman'  in  this  part  of  the  world 
at  present?  " 

"Well,"  I  said  looking  at  my  fingers  smudged  with  cocoa,  "to- 
night I  should  say  that  I  was  a  pale  chocolate-colored  woman.'* 

"I  noticed  that  your  face  was  dirty,"  coolly  returned  the  gentle- 
man. I  hurriedly  excused  myself  in  order  to  consult  a  looking- 
glass.  Sure  enough,  there  on  my  nose  was  a  large  smudge  of  soot! 
I  must  have  got  it  the  last  time  I  stoked  the  chocolate-stove. 

CoNFLANS,  April  7. 

The  M.  P.s  live  in  the  hotel  next  door.  Naturally  we  see  a 
good  deal  of  them.  I  try  to  treat  them  extra  nicely  because  I 
feel  sorry  for  them.  They  can't  help  being  M.  P.s  any  more  than 
they  can  help  being  unpopular.  And  though  many  of  them  go 
about  with  a  chip  on  their  shoulders  and  an  attitude  of  I-don't- 
give-a-tinker's-damn,  still  to  know  that  you  are  anathema  to 
the  major  portion  of  the  A.  E.  F.,  to  be  publicly  referred  to  as 
Misery  Providers,  Mademoiselle  Promenades,  and  Military 
Pests,  besides  being  made  the  subject  of  songs  such  as;  Mother 
take  down  your  service  flag,  Your  son  is  only  an  M.  P.,  must  be 
galling  to  the  most  insensitive. 

Just  as  soon  as  the  armistice  was  signed  the  doughboys  started 
in  to  pester  the  M.  P.s  with  the  classic  taunt: 

"Who  won  the  war?— The  M.  P.s!" 

For  a  long  while  the  M.  P.s  could  think  of  no  more  crushing 
rejoinder  than  the  time-honored; 

"Aw,  go  to  hell!" 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  255 

But  lately  some  bright  soul  has  hit  upon  a  bit  of  repartee  that 
goes  far  to  salve  the  M.  P.s'  self-respect.  Now  if  a  soldier  is  so 
rash  as  to  jeer;  "Who  won  the  war?  The  M.  P.s!'*  the  response 
comes  instantly: 

"Yep !   They  chased  the  doughboys  up  front !" 

There  are  two  M.  P.s  from  the  detachment  next  door  who  have 
lately  joined  themselves  to  our  family.  Like  Slim,  they  came 
unsolicited,  and  like  Slim,  they  stick.  They  are  known  respect- 
ively as  the  Littlest  M.  P.  and  the  Fattest  M.  P. 

The  Littlest  M.  P.  is  a  pest.  I  feel  sorry  for  him  because  he 
is  so  young  and  has  no  mother;  otherwise  there  v/ould  be  no  tolerat- 
ing him.  He  hangs  about  the  canteen  from  morning  until  late 
at  night  under  pretence  of  assisting  us,  and  eats  and  eats  and 
eats  and  eats.  The  other  day  I  heard  him  proudly  averring  that 
he  hadn't  taken  a  meal  in  the  mess-hall  for  two  weeks,  and  I 
believed  him.  Yet  when  you  ask  him  to  do  any  particular  piece 
of  work,  Uke  filling  up  the  wood  box  or  fetching  a  pail  of  water, 
in  return  for  his  board,  he  always  has  some  perfectly  good  reason 
for  not  doing  it.  Besides  which,  he  has  no  morals.  The  other 
day  he  confided  to  me  triumphantly  that  the  reason  that  they 
didn't  put  him  on  guard  work  was  that  they  knew  he  would  take 
money  to  let  men  into  caf ^s  at  prohibited  hours.  He  went  on  to 
tell  me  about  the  town  of  S. 

"That  was  a  good  place,  you  could  get  twenty-five  francs  for 
lettin'  a  feller  into  a  caf ^  out  of  hours  there." 

I  have  tried  to  find  out  what  he  does  in  return  for  Uncle  Sam's 
dollar  a  day  and  have  discovered  that  his  job  is  sweeping  out 
the  halls  in  the  M.  P.  Hotel. 

"But  I  skip  about  twenty  feet  at  each  end  every  time,  so  it 
don't  take  me  more'n  ten  minutes." 

Yesterday  morning  he  came  in  with  an  air  of  righteousness 
rewarded. 

"I  told  'em  I'd  got  to  have  help  on  that  job,"  he  announced, 
"so  they  put  another  feller  on  too." 

This  morning  I  got  so  exasperated  with  him  that  I  told  him 


256  CONFLANS 

in  unmistakable  terms  that  we  could  dispense  with  his  company. 
He  disappeared,  and  I  congratulated  myself  that  we  were  rid  of 
him.    But  at  supper- time  he  bobbed  serenely  up  again. 

"Some  fellers  would  have  got  sore  if  you'd  spoke  like  that  to 
them,"  he  told  me  with  a  magnanimous  air,  "but  I  just  took  it 
as  a  joke.'* 

Now  what  is  one  to  do  with  anybody  like  that? 

The  Fattest  M.  P.  is  the  most  unleavened  lump  of  good-nature 
I  have  ever  known.  He  is,  I  understand,  a  notorious  poker-player 
and  his  breath,  to  my  embarrassment,  betrays  the  fact  that  he 
has  a  weakness  for  Conflans  beer.  Besides  which,  he  really  takes 
up  quite  too  much  room  behind  the  counter.  Yet  in  spite  of  all 
this,  he  is  such  a  simple  soul  and  is  so  anxious  to  help  that  one 
hasn't  the  heart  to  send  him  away. 

Yesterday  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be  arrested  by  an  M.  P. 
I  had  gone  over  to  Verdun  in  an  army  flivver  to  get  some  stock. 
Turning  the  comer  into  Conflans  on  our  way  home  we  were  halted 
by  the  upraised  billy  of  the  M.  P.  on  duty. 

"Sorry,  Buddy!"  he  called  to  the  driver,  "but  you  can't  do  that!" 

Then,  approaching,  he  got  a  closer  view,  turned  red  as  fire  and 
stammered; 

"Beg  your  pardon,  Miss.  Made  a  mistake.  That's  all  right, 
driver,  you  can  go  on." 

Later  he  sent  apologies  to  me  at  the  canteen.  It  is,  of  course, 
against  regulations  to  allow  civilian  women  to  use  army  trans- 
portation. The  M.  P.,  catching  sight  of  a  skirt,  had  taken  me 
for  a  Mademoiselle  on  a  joy-ride. 

Conflans  April  7. 
We  must  start  an  Orphans'  Annex  here,  the  boys  tell  me. 
Three  nights  ago  as  it  was  drawing  on  toward  closing  time  the 
Chief  called  me  into  the  office.  By  the  table  stood  two  young 
boys,  about  fourteen  and  sixteen  I  judged  them;  each  carried 
on  his  shoulder  a  little  sack  which  evidently  contained  all  his 
worldly  possessions.    They  were  German  boys  from  Metz;  they 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  257 

had  just  come  in  on  the  train.  Why  had  they  come?  we  asked 
them.  They  had  come  to  join  the  American  army.  But  they 
were  too  young!  He  was  eighteen,  declared  the  elder.  He  dug 
into  his  pockets  and  produced  documents.  I  looked  at  two  of 
the  papers,  they  appeared  to  be  the  birth  certificates  of  his  father 
and  mother.  Had  his  parents  given  their  consent?  He  nodded. 
"And  you  really  are  eighteen?'*  "/a/  Ja  wohW*  It  was  hard 
to  believe, — he  was  so  small.  We  stared  at  them  a  bit  helplessly. 
Then,  finding  our  German  not  quite  adequate  to  the  occasion, 
we  called  an  interpreter.  But  to  all  the  interpreter's  questioning 
the  boy  returned  the  same  unvar3dng  answer.  He  had  come  to 
join  the  American  army!  As  for  the  younger  one,  he  merely  stood 
and  smiled  and  looked  as  guileless  as  a  young  angel.  Whatever 
the  elder  one's  intention  might  be,  I  was  sure  I  could  divine  the 
younger's.  He,  I  am  certain,  had  set  his  heart  on  being  an  Amer- 
ican "mascot."  And  he,  for  all  his  innocent  and  engaging  air, 
had  most  patently  run  away  from  home! 

We  told  the  boys  that  we  would  put  them  up  for  the  night. 
I  busied  myself  in  getting  them  some  supper  and  then — another 
waif  appeared!  A  little  French  lad  of  thirteen,  with  a  peg-leg 
and  a  crutch,  he  came  shyly  hobbling  into  the  office,  and  the 
face  he  lifted  to  us  was  one  of  the  sweetest,  the  most  sensitive 
and  appealing  that  I  have  ever  seen.  Silently  he  tendered  us  a 
letter.  It  had  been  written  by  an  American  lieutenant;  the 
bearer,  it  stated,  was  an  orphan  of  the  war;  he  had  been  shot  by 
German  machine-gunners  near  Verdun;  his  right  leg  had  been 
amputated  at  the  thigh.  I  looked  at  the  crippled  child  in  appre- 
hension. How  would  he  take  the  presence  of  the  Germans?  But 
my  question  was  already  answered.  The  little  German  lad  and 
the  French  mutile  had  drawn  close  together,  seemingly  drawn 
instantly  to  each  other  by  a  bond  of  childish  understanding. 
Although  neither  could  speak  the  other's  speech  they  appeared 
to  be  communicating  in  some  shy  wordless  way.  Later,  as  we 
were  getting  the  cots  ready  for  the  lodgers,  passing  the  empty 
canteen  room,  I  glanced  inside.    Somebody  had  started  the  vie- 


2s8  CONFLANS 

trola  on  the  counter  to  playing  a  waltz,  and  to  its  music  the 
German  boys  were  dancing  while  the  little  French  lad  gaily  kept 
time  with  his  crutch! 

We  fed  the  three  of  them  and  put  them  up  for  the  night.  The 
next  morning  the  French  lad  took  his  leave.  Later  he  came  back 
to  see  us  dressed  in  a  little  American  uniform;  he  had  been  adopted 
by  one  of  the  companies  here.  The  German  lads  stayed  with 
us,  or  rather,  they  slept  and  ate  with  the  M.  P.s  next  door  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  with  us  in  the  canteen.  They  loved  to 
help  about  the  counter;  they  were  quick  and  deft  and  willing. 
The  only  trouble  with  the  arrangement  was  that  I  fairly  went 
distracted  trying  to  talk  three  languages  at  once! 

Two  days  afterwards,  the  M.  P.s  having  taken  the  matter  in 
hand,  the  German  boys  were  sent  back  to  Metz.  But  the  French 
lad  comes  in  often  to  visit  us.  We  see  him  playing  ball  with  the 
soldiers  in  the  street  in  front  of  the  hotel.  This  morning  the  S.  A. 
and  I  stood  watching  him. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  it  so  much  somehow,"  the  S.  A.  remarked, 
"if  he  didn't  have  that  wrap-legging  wound  so  tight  around  that 
pitiful  little  peg-stick!" 

The  tenderness  toward  little  children  which  the  war  has  shown 
forth  so  vividly  has  been  a  revelation  of  an  inherent  sweetness 
in  the  boys'  natures;  this  fondness  for  children  other  than  their 
own,  being,  I  believe  a  distinctive  characteristic  of  our  American 
men.  Any  number  of  companies  have  mascots,  little  French 
boys,  orphans  usually,  whom  they  dress  in  miniature  uniforms, 
take  about  from  place  to  place  with  them,  and,  of  course,  spoil 
quite  shamelessly.  And  in  every  unit  that  possesses  a  mascot 
you  find  boys  whose  dearest  wish  is  to  adopt  the  little  fellow  as 
his  own  and  take  him  back  home;  but  this  the  French  law  forbids. 

"That's  the  best  part  of  France,  the  little  kids,"  remarked 
a  boy  to  me  as  we  passed  a  group  of  little  tots  by  the  road-side. 

Unfortunately  though,  this  petting  has  another  side.  Spoiled 
by  the  soft-hearted  soldiers,  the  French  gamins  have  developed 
into  a  brood  of  brazen  little  beggars.    They  have  come  to  regard 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  259 

all  Americans,  it  seems,  as  perambulating  slot  machines  for 
*'goom"  and  chocolate  with  whom,  however,  the  purchasing 
penny  is  quite  superfluous.  I  shall  never  forget  being  held  up,  as  I 
was  walking  with  a  doughboy  through  the  streets  of  Lourdes,  by  a 
tiny  lad  who  demanded  pathetically; 

"  Une  cigarette  pour  moi,  et  une  pour  Fapa,  et  une  pour  Maman  qui 
est  malader* 

Nor  the  fifteen  year  old  conductor  on  a  suburban  tram  Hne 
near  Paris,  who  took  up  our  tickets  with  a  forbidding  scowl,  and 
then,  his  rounds  made,  hurried  back  down  the  car  to  confront  us 
with  the  wistful  childish  plea:  "'Ave  you  goom?" 

For  some  while  there  has  been  a  red-headed  urchin  of  perhaps 
thirteen  years  hanging  about  the  hut.  As  he  was  dressed  jn  an 
O.  D.  blouse,  breeches  and  leggings,  I  concluded  that  he  was 
somebody's  mascot.  He  kept  coming  into  the  canteen  to  buy  gmn 
and  cigarettes;  presently  I  discovered  he  was  purchaser  for  a  Uttle 
gang  of  ragamuffins  who  would  wait  for  him  just  outside  the  door. 
I  asked  the  boys  in  the  canteen  if  they  knew  anything  about  the 
red-head,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know  who  he  was  or  to  what  outfit 
he  belonged.  The  boy  himself  seemed  stupid  and  sullen  when  I 
questioned  him.  Finally  I  told  him  that  I  could  sell  him  nothing 
more.    Tonight  my  friend  the  M.  P.  Sergeant  asked  casually; 

"Do  you  remember  that  red-headed  kid  that  used  to  hang 
around?    Well  we've  got  him  and  eight  others." 

"Why,  what  for?" 

"They're  Propaganda  Kids.  They  came  over  here  from  Ger- 
many; they've  been  stealing  American  uniforms  and  smuggling 
them  to  the  German  prisoners  so  they  could  escape  in  them." 

CoNFLANS,  April  15. 

Of  all  the  roads  over  which  I  have  ever  passed,  the  road  from 
Conflans  to  Verdun  will  remain,  I  think,  most  sharply  etched  upon 
my  memory. 

Leaving  Conflans,  as  one  passes  through  the  occupied  territory, 
the  predominant  impression  made  upon  one's  mind  is  of  signs. 


26o  CONFLANS 

German  military  signs.  These  are  eveiywhere,  painted  in  great 
staring  letters  on  the  sides  of  buildings,  covering  bill-boards  set  at 
the  road's  edge,  or  hung  suspended  from  the  branches  of  trees  over 
the  truck  drivers'  heads.  Here  in  this  German  sector  behind  the 
lines  every  movement  was  timed,  ordered  and  regulated.  No  one 
could  possibly  go  astray,  no  one  could  lose  a  moment  in  hesitation 
as  to  where  he  should  go,  in  what  manner  and  at  what  rate.  Half- 
way between  Conflans  and  the  hues  you  come  upon  two  great  bill- 
boards at  the  highway's  edge,  one  duplicating  the  other,  in  order 
that,  marching  past,  what  might  have  been  missed  on  the  first 
board,  could  be  supplied  by  the  second.  They  are  headed  "  Under 
Enemy  Observation!"  and  give  in  strict  detail  the  order  of  pro- 
cedure from  that  point  forward,  both  by  day  and  night,  just 
what  strength  the  marching  groups  should  be  and  how  many 
metres  should  intervene  between  them.  The  German  thorough- 
ness, the  German  system!  Everything  has  been  thought  of,  every- 
thing provided  for,  everything  possible  done  to  reduce  the  indi- 
vidual to  an  automaton,  a  mere  senseless  cog  in  a  vast  machine. 
And  yet  among  all  these  signs  there  is  one  that  lacks,  a  sign  that  is 
notable  by  its  absence;  it  is  the  sign  that  should  read  Nach  Verdun. 

Once  across  the  lines  on  the  French  side  you  are  struck  by  the 
startling  difference;  here  the  only  signs  that  one  sees  are  two, 
poignant  in  their  simplicity  and  directness.  They  are  Posle  de 
Secours  and  Blessis  d  Pied, 

Every  time  I  approach  Verdun  by  this  road  I  thrill  when  I 
think  of  the  enormous  energy  that  poured  along  it,  directed,  it 
must  have  seemed,  irresistibly,  over-poweringly  against  the 
city  in  the  hills;  a  thrill  only  surpassed  by  the  emotion  that  one 
must  feel  when  he  traverses  the  Sacra  Via  on  the  other  side  of 
Verdun,  the  "Holy  Way"  over  which  men  and  munitions  flowed 
incessantly  to  the  defense  of  the  beleaguered  city. 

Everywhere  one  sees  the  ineffaceable  scars  of  struggle^  the 
aftermath  of  destruction.  The  stately  trees  bordering  the  road- 
side, the  trees  that  Napoleon  ordered  planted  along  the  highways 
of  France,  are  barked  with  great  ugly  gashes  where  mines  had 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  261 

been  placed,  the  exploding  of  which  would  have  felled  the  great 
trees  across  the  road,  blocking  the  pursuer's  way.  Others  bear 
platforms  high  up  in  the  branches  where  machine-guns  were  placed. 
Rotting  camouflages  of  every  sort,  paper  strips  woven  like 
lattice,  curtains  of  branches  woven  through  wire  which  once 
screened  the  road  for  miles  from  the  enemy's  observation,  now  lie 
disintegrating  in  the  ditches.  Shell  holes  pit  the  fields,  concrete 
*' pill-boxes"  lurk  in  unsuspected  places,  every  mound  is  shelter 
for  a  dug-out,  walls  are  riddled  with  ragged  holes  cut  for  machine- 
guns.  Further  on,  one  comes  to  the  trenches  zigzagging  in  what 
seems  erratic  and  aimless  patterns  and  the  interminable  barbed- 
wire  entanglements,  hke  the  devil's  brier  patches. 

Half  across  the  open  plain  that  lies  before  the  hills  of  Verdun 
you  come  upon  a  German  tank  defence,  a  long  Hne  of  heavy 
concrete  pillars  with  enormous  cables,  once  highly  electrified,  looped 
between.  A  Httle  farther  and  the  road  crosses  an  impromptu  bridge 
thrown  hastily  over  the  great  gaping  crater  torn  by  an  exploding 
mine.  And  always  here  and  there  over  the  plain,  Httle  heaps  of 
glimmering  whitish  stones  which  mark  the  places  where  once  were 
villages.  Starting  to  ascend  the  hills,  one  looks  down  upon  a  ghost 
city,  a  city  where  many  of  the  walls  still  stand,  making  you  think  of 
nothing  but  a  huddled  host  of  tombstones,  a  city  chalk-white, 
naked,  as  if  the  flesh  were  all  picked  away  from  its  dead  bones;  the 
most  haunted,  the  most  wraith-like,  the  most  desolate  of  any. 

Climbing  the  hills,  sweeping  around  one  slow  curve  after  another, 
one  beholds  suddenly  before  him,  a  lesser  hill  ringed  by  higher 
ones,  Verdun,  scarred,  wounded,  but  victorious,  like  the  Winged 
Victory  of  Samothrace,  mutilated  yet  triumphant! 

When  I  first  made  the  trip  from  Verdun  to  Conflans  there  were 
still  good  pickings  for  the  souvenir-hunter  by  the  way;  shell-cases, 
helmets,  gas  masks  lying  along  the  roadside;  but  lately  it  has  looked 
as  if  these  trophies  had  been  thoroughly  gleaned.  Nor  does  one 
wonder  where  they  have  gone  when  one  sees  the  flivvers  piled  high 
with  homeward  bound  souvenirs  pulling  in  at  the  post  oflSce 
around  the  corner.    But  will  they  reach  home,  is  the  question? 


262  CONFLANS 

Ominous  rumours  are  abroad  that  salvage  plants  have  been  estab- 
lished at  the  base  ports  for  the  particular  purpose  of  confiscating 
shell-cases  on  their  way  to  America,  and  thereby  saving  the  Allies  a 
fortune  in  brass.  Some  of  the  boys  are  incUned  to  try  to  carry  their 
trophies  with  them  rather  than  entrust  them  to  Uncle  Sam's  mail 
service,  but  this  entails  some  trouble  to  prevent  their  seizure  dur- 
ing inspections.  Nowadays,  passing  by,  one  can  tell  when  an  in- 
spection is  in  progress  within,  by  all  the  junk  which  is  hanging  out 
of  the  barracks  windows!  Homeward-bound  troops  have  already 
discovered  a  use  for  gas  masks  not  mentioned  in  the  Drill  Manual: 
the  cases  provide  an  excellent  receptacle  in  which  surreptitiously 
one  may  carry  photographs  and  post-cards!  When  I  first  came  to 
Conflans,  camouflaged  German  helmets  were  a  prize  so  rare  as  to 
be  much  sought  after  by  the  souvenir  enthusiast;  but  now  cam- 
ouflaged helmets  may  be  had  for  the  asking;  an  enterprising  bugler 
possessed  of  a  knack  with  a  paint-brush  has  gone  into  the  business 
of  camouflaging  them  while  you  wait. 

Yesterday,  after  having  returned  from  Verdun,  I  noticed  a  post- 
card in  a  Jarny  shop.  It  showed  a  black  cat  and  a  white  cat  sil- 
houetted against  the  moon,  perched  on  the  skeleton  beams  of  a 
half-demoHshed  house,  peering  disconsolately  about  them.  Under- 
neath the  sentence  ran;  Ou  est-il  le  toil  de  nos  amours?  Where  is 
the  roof  of  our  love?  Could  any  nation  but  the  French  thus  make 
light  of  such  tragedy? 

Paris,  April  21. 

I  am  on  my  way  home  at  last.  I  am  waiting  here  for  my  sailing. 
This  time  I  am  really  going  all  the  way  through.  Now  that  I  am 
on  the  brink  of  the  retour  au  civile  as  the  French  say,  it  seems  very- 
odd.  For  eighteen  months  I  haven't  worn  white  gloves,  or  silk 
stockings,  or  a  veil,  no,  nor  even  powdered  my  nose.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is,  these  things  don't  seem  to  matter  any  more.  Even  a 
uniform,  and  a  homely  uniform  at  that,  has  tremendous  advan- 
tages as  part  of  a  working  scheme  of  life.    As  one  girl  remarked; 

"You  don't  have  to  spend  any  time  thinking:  Shall  I  put  on  the, 


PIONEERS,   M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  263 

pink  or  the  blue  tonight?  The  only  question  is,  Do  I  or  do  I  not 
need  a  clean  collar?  " 

Somehow  I  feel  a  little  unfitted  to  go  back  to  a  civiHan  existence 
once  more.  The  same  feeling  one  finds  expressed  continually  among 
the  boys. 

"  When  I  get  back  home,  if  I  see  a  line  anywhere  I'll  go  and  stand 
in  it  just  from  force  of  habit^"  remarked  one  boy,  grinning  ruefully. 

But  most  often  this  feeUng  takes  the  form  of  a  pathetic  and 
wistful  fear. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  shock  Mother  when  I  get  home." 

"They  won't  know  what  to  make  of  us,  back  home,  the  way 
w^e'U  behave." 

"I  reckon  I've  forgotten  how  to  act  civiUzed." 

And  over  and  again  they  confess  to  a  shame-faced  apprehension 
lest  they  should  unguardedly  relapse  into  the  language  of  the  army 
and  so  frighten  their  women  folk! 

A  famous  French  surgeon  confided  to  my  friend,  the  Enghsh 
Lady: 

"In  that  first  year  of  the  war  when  we  were  allowed  no  permis- 
sions we  became  like  savages.  The  first  time  that  I  returned  home 
I  was  afraid.  I  was  afraid  all  the  while,  afraid  before  my  wife,  be- 
fore my  children, — afraid  that  I  would  act  the  beast." 

If  by  coming  to  France,  we  women  who  have  had  this  privilege 
have  discovered  the  American  doughboy,  the  American  doughboy, 
by  coming  to  France,  has  discovered  America.  I  don't  know  who 
first  said;  "After  I  get  back,  if  the  Statue  of  Liberty  ever  wants 
to  see  my  face  again,  she'll  have  to  turn  around,"  but  whoever  did, 
uttered  a  sentiment  which  has  been  echoed  and  re-echoed  all  over 
France.  The  doughboy  has  been  to  Paris,  "the  City  of  Light," 
he  has  amused  himself  in  the  playgrounds  of  princes  along  the 
Riviera,  he  has  visited  the  chateaux  and  palaces  of  kings  and 
queens.  And  though  he  admits  it  is  all  mighty  fine,  in  the  face  of 
everything  he  holds  staunchly  to  his  declaration  of  loyalty;  "I'll 
tell  the  world  the  little  old  U.  S.  A.  is  good  enough  for  me!" 

At  times  perhaps  his  patriotic  enthusiasm  has  outweighed  his 


264  CONFLANS 

manners.  Again  and  again  a  French  villager,  evidently  echoing 
some  doughboy's  dissertation,  has  asked  me  a  little  wistfully; 

"America  6t?w,  goode!    Fmnce  pas  b on,  no  goodel    Hein?" 

"Anyway  the  war  has  done  one  good  thing,"  I  used  to  say  to  the 
lads  in  the  canteens,"  it  has  taught  you  to  appreciate  your  homes.'* 

"I  used  to  want  to  get  away  from  home,"  confided  one  boy  to 
me,  "but  when  I  get  back  there  again  I'm  just  going  to  tie  myself 
so  tight  to  Mother's  apron-strings  that  she'll  never  get  the  knot 
undone." 

"  Say,  when  I  get  back,"  declared  another  lad  as  he  helped  me 
wipe  the  dishes,  "my  mother's  going  to  find  I'm  just  the  best  little 
K.  P.  she  ever  knew." 

"When  I  get  home,  I'm  going  to  lock  myself  in  the  house  and 
then  I'm  going  to  lose  the  key  and  stay  right  there  for  a  month," 
announced  another. 

"Who's  in  your  house? " 

"Just  Mother.    She's  good  enough  for  me." 

Sometimes  I  have  thought  that  three  things  have  stood  as  con- 
crete symbols  of  all  that  was  desirable  to  the  American  boy  through 
his  ordeal  over  here:  a  dollar-bill,  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  his 
mother's  face.  And  only  a  shade  less  touching  than  the  dough- 
boy's realization  of  all  that  is  implied  by  "Mother;"  is  his  attitude 
of  chivalrous  idealism  toward  the  American  girl.  Once  I  ventured 
to  say  something  in  praise  of  the  women  of  France. 

"But  they're  not  as  fine  as  our  girls!"  came  the  instant  jealous 
rejoinder. 

"No  Mademoiselles  franqaises  for  me,  thank  you.  I've  got  a 
little  girl  of  my  own  back  home!" 

"Our  American  girls,  they're  as  different  from  these  French 
girls,"  declared  a  tall  Virginian,  "as  day  is  from  night!" 

"I've  laid  off  of  lovin'  while  I've  been  over  here,"  confided  one 
little  engineer,  "but,  oh  boy!  my  girl's  goin'  to  get  an  awful 
huggin'  when  I  get  home!" 

The  most  pitiful  and  hopeless  cases  that  I  have  seen  over  here 
were  boys  who  had  taken  to  drink  because  their  girls  at  home  had 


PIONEERS,  M.P.S  AND  OTHERS  265 

proved  inconstant.  "That  man  never  touched  a  drop,"  confided 
the  buddy  of  one  of  these  to  me,"  until  he  got  that  letter  from  his 
girl  telling  him  that  she  was  married  to  a  slacker." 

Not  that  the  doughboy's  conduct  has  always  been  above  re- 
proach. "Single  men  in  barracks,"  as  Kipling  once  remarked, 
"don't  grow  into  plaster  saints;"  and  he  has  been  sorely  tempted. 
But  in  his  heart  he  has  kept  an  ideal.  It  has  stood  between  him 
and  utter  darkness.  In  this  ideal  he  has  put  all  his  faith.  If  he 
loses  it,  he  loses  everything.  Those  women  back  home,  I  wonder, 
do  they  really  understand? 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  TIDE 

Fully  illustrated  with  original  maps  and  sketches 

,  By  Lieut-Col.  JENNINGS  C.  WISE,  author  of  "  The  Long  Arm  of 
Lee,"  "  Gunnery,"  "  Empire  and  Armament,".etc.,  etg.    $2.00 

To  what  extent  were  the  great  German  reverses  of  the  summer  of 
1918  due  to  American  military  prowess?  What  were  Cantigny  and 
Oiateau-Thierry  from  the  military  standpoint?  And  how  much  help 
did  Foch  get  from  the  Americans  at  the  Second  Marne?  Such  are 
the  questions  to  answer  which  Colonel  Wise  has  written  the  "  Turn  of 
the  Tide."  Fresh  from  France  and  the  Historical  Section  of  the 
General  Staff  at  Chaumont,  Colonel  Wise  is  the  first  writer  to  return  to 
this  country  fully  equipped  to  discuss  with  authority  our  share  in  the 
war  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  battalion  commander  who  saw  much 
action  and  as  an  Army  Historian. 

FIRST  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE 
CAMPAIGN  OF  1918 

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In  undertaking  to  offer  constructive  criticism  of  our  combat  army 
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months  or  more.  During  this  period  he  made  a  number  of  intimate 
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''  SIMSADUS-LONDON  " 

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HENRY       HOLT      AND       COMPANY 

19  W.  44  St.  (II  '20)  NEW   YORK 


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HENRY      HOLT      AND      COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  (vi'ie)  NEW  YORK 


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By  Rene  Juta.    $1.75. 

This  remarkable  historical  novel,  which  is  also  a  first  novel, 
tells  one  of  the  strangest  stories  which  has  seen  the  light,  even 
in  these  wonder-loving  days.  Many  of  the  characters  have 
descendants  playing  their  parts  now  on  the  British  imperial 
stage.  But  the  strange  figure  of  Dr.  James  Barry  has  only 
old  wives'  tales  and  this  novel  for  memorial.  The  mysterious 
garden  is  likewise  no  fiction.  Sir  Charles  Somerset  being 
credited  with  the  foundation  of  the  first  of  its  kind  in  the 
Cape  Province. 

HENRY       HOLT      AND      COMPANY 

19  W.  44TH  St.  (ill  '20)  NEW  YORK 


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OCT   6    1932 
AUG  151938 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


cDbmmsi4 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


